What Does Absence Do?
by Witchdoctr
Summary: Arthur and Matthew were high school sweethearts, but when Mattie caught him cheating with Francis they broke it off. They meet again years later.Absence doesn't quite make the heart grow fonder but does give one time to grow up. Mattie has never been more attractive or sexy...or so off-limits. Arthur's selfish enough to want him while dating the man he broke it off with Mattie for.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia**

**Author's Notes**

_Thoughts/ Flashbacks_

Notes/ Letters

"Talking"

**Simple enough, no? **

**Alright, so this is a short fic dedicated to England/Canada which doesn't get enough love. **

**I swear, I'll get onto Hot as Ice once I'm done with this three-shot! That doesn't guarentee an update TODAY, but I swear, I'll get back to working on it (it's in the half-finished stage, which really is half-incomplete by pessimistic labeling). **

* * *

**Facebook-Status Update:Matthew Williams**

**Matthew Williams** changed his relationship status from _In a relationship with_ **Arthur Kirkland** to _single_.

**GilberttheAwesomeBeilschmidt likes this.**

**Comments:**

-hollllly shit, Mattie, srsly? when did this happen? And when are you available?

-So smooth, Gilbert.

-Yeah, shut up, Gilbert, he just got dumped, not cool! Plus, I heard Artie cheated on him, so good 4 u, Mattie, 4 dumpin that cheating Brit.

-Who said he was the dumper and not the dumpee?

-Well duh, Art was the one dumped, he's the one who cheated!

-Good for you, mattie, I always knew you deserved better!

-hey matt, you wanna talk?

* * *

**Facebook-Status Update: Arthur Kirkland**

Arthur Kirkland changed his relationship status from _In a relationship with _**Matthew Williams **to _single_.

**GilberttheAwesomeBeilschmidt , Francis Bonnefoy, Hero Alfred (Superman) Jones, Kiku Honda, and Elizaveta Hedervary like this**.

**Comments:**

-Serves you right, douche.

-teach you to cheat.

-mattie's like the nicest guy ever, why?

-and with the frog, no less...

-Call me? XOXOXO

-Francis, you truly are disgusting and I can't believe you don't even feel bad about tearing a relationship apart!

-ha,,, it wasn't his fault, it was Artie's, he's the cheater here, rite?

-u guys are so stupid.

-u r the 1 who can't stay out of people's business.

-Are you kidding me? You're the one who's commenting on someone's relationship instead of getting one of your own.

-Buuuurrrrrnnn.

-Shut up, Gilbert, you're the one who's been panting after Matthew for god-knows how long, so there.

-Well I didn't act on it, since Matthew was taken! But now he's not, so I've got a chance...

-Hey, you guys?

-Oh Arthur, you're showing you're ugly face... kind of. Over Facebook. But you know, it's nice to know you're still alive and not dying of shame... or herpes.

-Are you implying something?

-No, Francis, I'm not... unless I'm right.

-SHUT UP ALL YOU WANKERS! GET OFF MY DAMN PROFILE AND GOSSIP ON TWITTER OR SOMETHING!

* * *

Arthur Kirkland

BritishSuperiorWit

on Twitter . com

My boyfriend broke up with me. It was my fault. I'm sorry, Mattie.

* * *

**Please leave a message at the beat.**

_[Please let me explain. Just-just answer the phone and we'll talk, please?]_

_[Mattie? Are you there? Well, Alfred, uh, mentioned in passing that you were-uh, not busy at the moment and I'd really like to-uh, explain myself-]_

_[That does it! Matthew Williams, you owe me an explanation! You can't just end all communication with me and tell me to sod off-!]_

_[Okay, I apologize, that most certainly was not fair. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, what else can I say? It's my fault, all my fault and I'm really... really lonely and confused and... depressed and I really miss you and I just want to talk to you, face-to-face. Remember? We used to do that and complain like old men about how the younger generation and how the young men and women of today couldn't last a single day without their cell phones and- call ended due to excessive length]_

_[Okay, Matthew, this is getting ridiculous. You don't call, you don't write, you don't even look at me when we pass one another in the hall! Please, I can't stand the thought of our relationship ending so...badly. I hate seeing you and knowing I hurt you and knowing I might've blown the best thing that ever happened to me and I want to let you know that I-I'm so sorry and I really miss you.]_

* * *

_Text-Subject:asshole!_

_ To:Matthieu103_

_not u! That scum Art! did u c art's facebook page? he's in a relationship w/ tht frggy cheese Bonnefoy._

_Told u he was a dick. Lame ass cheats on my bro then gos 4 that whore. i told u not callin back was the #1 thing 2 do._

_From: McDonald'sIsGod_

* * *

_Text-Subject:asshole!_

_To:McDonald'sIsGod_

_With Francis? Yes, I did, Alfred. Francis posted an album of pictures of Arthur and declared his love. His status updates for the past few days have been about the same thing. Namely, Arthur Kirkland. _

_From: Matthieu103_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:asshole!_

_ To:Matthieu103_

_UR not jealous r u? Cuz they r douches and u deserve better, bro. HEEEEYYYYY, u r not thinking of calling him, r u? _

_From: McDonald'sIsGod_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:asshole!_

_To:McDonald'sIsGod_

_I feel bad for ignoring him. I know you thought it was the best thing to do, but he called so many times and his friends would constantly ask me to just talk to him and that he felt so bad and was so sorry. To be honest, I would've called him back if you had let me. _

_From: Matthieu103_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:RE:asshole!_

_ To:Matthieu103_

_Wich is exacly y i didn't. and sorry? ha! he's got his tongue down froggy's throat now, so isn't it obvious he wasn't that srry?_

_From: McDonald'sIsGod_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:RE:asshole!_

_ To:Matthieu103_

_Mattie? Matt? _

_From: McDonald'sIsGod_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:RE:asshole!_

_ To: Matthieu103_

_Mattiiiiiiiiieeeee! so srry, i didn't mean it like that! just that he is a douche n u desrve some1 better n i am coming over rite now 2 make sure u don't fall 4 his tricks again._

_From: McDonald'sIsGod_

* * *

**Facebook-Status Update: Arthur Kirkland**

Arthur Kirkland changed his relationship status from _single _to _In a relationship with _**Francis Bonnefoy**.

**Comments: (176) **

**View previous comments**

-YOU STUPID SONUVABITCH!

-Chill out, Al.

-Yeah, man, I liek totes heard that Arthur tried 2 apologize, but matthew was like NOT rspndng, so it's not like Arthur's fault their rltnship ended badly. matt's like shunning him, so whatevs!

-shut up, Feliks, even if it's true, that's not something you can say

-duddddde, y not? it's not like matthew's on FB anymoresssss!

-U R ALL ASSHOLES AND JACKASSES FOR BEING SO DAMN INSENSITIVE!

-Again, calm down, Alfred. You know the stuff you post on FB lasts forever.

-I DON'T CARE AND I WILL NOT! You broke Mattie's heart, don't you even care?

* * *

Dial tone...

Calling...

...

...

Click.

"Alfred, now listen here-"

"Oh, it's you, you asshole-"

"Shut up, you bloody twat and sod off, I want to talk to Mattie!"

"Too bad, 'cause if your thick fatass head hasn't caught on yet, he _dumped _your ass and doesn't want to talk to you."

"I know. You think I don't? I called him every day after he saw me... with Francis, but he wouldn't answer-"

"I wonder why? You insufferable-"

"Shut it! Fine, if he doesn't want to talk to me, then tell him this for me: I'm sorry things ended badly and he should just move on."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, I'm bloody not, why?"

"Because you-you actually... argggghhh, you're such a jackass! You think he's still enamored with you? You think he's crying and moping and all sad 'cause you cheated on him? Well he's not! He knows you're a-a jerkass! I told him! I told him and told him that you were no good-!"

"Shut it, you bag of shite, I don't care what you think of me! And he's clearly still moping. He hasn't been on FB or Twitter for months now and he never comes out of his room, according to his friends..."

"How the hell would you know, creeper?"

"I am not a creep! His friends are... were our friends, so they would know, because he never does anything with anyone anymore and even if... things aren't exactly 'peachy' with us anymore, I don't want to see him miserable..."

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew Williams**

**So Here I Am, A Few Years Later**

So yeah, that was pretty much my life four years back.

Things were pretty hectic. I felt like utter crap and I couldn't leave my room for fear of running into him, or worse, _Francis._

Francis, who'd spent all his life, starting the moment he'd first seen him in freshmen year, doggedly following Arthur's footsteps, always looking for an opening to slide into. Looking for a weak spot to hammer a wedge between what he wanted and what kept him from it. And at the time, during sophomore year, Arthur was what he wanted and I was what was in the way.

God, I don't hold grudges, I really don't.

But thinking about Francis just makes me feel like crap. I mean who wouldn't feel like crap next to him?

He was-is talented, an excellent actor as well as artist. He could make amazing artwork, effortlessly it seemed, and he was always good at spouting nonsensical art babble, the kind of stuff that appealed to rich men and women who could afford million dollar masterpieces. From what I heard, he painted this "amazing" canvas and titled it "The Depth of My Soul." He painted it baby blue and claimed that it represented the sky because, quote-on-quote, "The sky is see-through, yet deeper than we can possibly imagine. This represents my feelings and my heart because my soul and all of its complexities run deep, yet is see-through, like the sky, to those who love it."

Some classy, emotional shit there, right?

But I'm not jealous. I just feel like shit next to him. That's different. I don't wish to be him, I just wish he'd go away.

Amazing artist, an exuberant, over-the-top actor who never faltered in front of crowds, never shied away from verbal presentations and never kept his thoughts to himself. Bold and vivacious and charming, he never failed to get what he wanted. Not only did he have amazing talent, but he had charm as well. He had the guts and the desire, the ambition and the drive.

In the end, though, the only thing I really envied was his boyfriend, the boy I'd fallen in love with what seems like ages ago, Arthur Kirkland.

But times change. You get on with it.

Stop moping. Stop hiding inside your room, dreading to see him, see his new boyfriend, see all the friends you used to hang out with when you were both still in a relationship, still happy. I admit, I haven't kept in touch with any of those friends. It's too depressing and honestly, I'm not going to fight with Arthur over who they belong to. I would never win. And as Alfred always says, I'm a real pushover. I really am. I backed off, hands raised in surrender.

The cute, shy guy over there?

He's sensitive. A pushover. Easy.

He's a loner too. If you want a temporary friend, go be nice to him. He's a starter friend. You get him as a friend so you don't look lame and friendless and by the time you get more friends, you know that he, with his infinitely loner tendencies, will be pushed away. If he doesn't, then whatever. But if he does, well who cares? He's too quiet to bother your crowd or he'll quietly exit your crowd. Easy.

Shhh, here he comes. He looks so sad. But oh well, he'll get over it. He's a nice guy and hurting his feelings wasn't in the plan, but he's not really interesting enough to be a cool friend. It's really his own fault. Shhh, he's looking. Don't look at him and maybe he'll ignore you. Maybe he'll forget about you if you pretend he doesn't exist.

I guess I'm just a "starter." You know, a boyfriend to experiment with, someone so dull that you can easily figure out what it is you want out of a relationship, who you want. I'm disposable fodder. We're everywhere. Date us, then dump us nicely, telling us we can still be friends with you, then move on and find that interesting someone, that special person.

I guess I'm okay with that. I know what it is I want in a relationship now too.

Well, that's not true.

What's true, however, is that I've been single. And the way things look, I think it'll stay that way.

But don't worry, I don't really mind.

I don't like crowds or audiences. I don't like talking as much as I like reading. I don't mind listening rather than speaking. People seem to find this off-putting, so they assume I like being alone and shy away from me.

In high school, kids tend to like the talkative types, those who keep an engaging conversation going. I'm not good with that stuff. I run out of things to say and stutter and eventually mumbled to myself and lapse back into complete silence.

Hell, who am I kidding?

That's how the world is. If you don't or can't speak loud enough, they ignore you.

Which makes sense. And is sensible. Logical. Practical. Why strain your ears to hear those who can't be heard?

I sigh, rubbing my eyes, and wishing I could escape that creeping sense of hopelessness. You know, a regular Tuesday night. It was getting late, or at least, by my standards; it was about ten p.m.

My eyes were beginning to itch and sting tiredly, but I wasn't ready to soothe them yet. I still had an essay to write for college. Granted, it wasn't really something to complain about, since it was probably the easiest one I'd had so far. For one thing, it didn't involve studying various textbooks and walking to the library and checking out every book that might even remotely contain a fact on your subject or worse, _surfing the web. _This one just involved... formulating basic subjective theories and supporting objective evidence with logical assumptions and interpretations based on your personal ad hominem opinions.

Damn, I really hate college.

I like writing. Well, I kind of like it. I like that feeling you get after you're done writing. It's a wonderful sense of accomplishment, even if it's for something as dumb as a grade.

Did I just say grades are dumb? I meant that-that it's not as... significant an accomplishment as, say...

Okay, grades aren't technically dumb, just not necessarily accomplishments. Grades are only important because they can be used to get you into a job that will, hopefully be productive and then, you can get something significant done. You know, something important. Ok, not necessarily important...

You know what?

Here, plain and simple:

An A+ on a History paper is nice.

But say you're a chemical engineer in charge of computer designing and programming and after a month say you're done with a difficult, complex project that _not just anyone _could do. Now that feeling must be the best feeling of the world, not just accomplishment, but the feeling that you did something productive for someone else, that you have some worth to the world.

That's why I think high schoolers are so insecure. 'Cause they're not doing anything significant and they feel like having a lot of friends and being popular and in the center of attention makes them significant.

Hey, don't I make a great psychologist?

No? Oh well, not really something I'm very interested in anyway.

Aahhhh, if only I could sleep...But no, I can't sleep, not yet. I want to finish this so that tomorrow I'm not angsting over it when I'm at Elizaveta Hedervary's party.

I have to get all my work done before I can even consider doing something that's not work. Otherwise I can't stop thinking about the work I have to get done. I actually want to get homework and studying done, because I know that when I do, the little stress ball in my chest nagging me to get my work done will vanish and I'll feel that fake sense of accomplishment. Well, until I get the next assignment. But you know, that's college, work and persevere until it's over. Relax until you get more work. Then... repeat.

As for the party... well, I didn't want to go.

I really didn't. But Elizaveta pressured me. For almost a year, she'd pestered me and prodded me and worked me (I had the misfortune of sharing a few classes with her) until I was too exhausted with her pleas and persistent badgering to continue saying no.

Point one for peer pressure.

But who's counting? I've given in to my classmates more times than I can count.

My cellphone rang.

I glanced at my bag, my eyes burning with exhaustion. I fumbled for the zipper and pushed my hand into the pocket, searching blindly for my phone. I found it and put it between my cheek and shoulder, going back to my essay.

"Matthew speaking."

"YO YO YO!"

I jumped at the volume. Ouch. My ears ringing, I sighed, bracing myself for Alfred's normal drivel.

Because you know now, it was my best buddy and tormentor on the phone.

**Third Person POV: Matthew**

"It's Al!"

"I know."

"Dude, you missed out! You should've joined a fraternity like me! You'd be partying all night with booze and friends!"

"That's more your scene than mine," Matthew said with amusement, hammering out a few weak, redundant sentences with fancy, unnecessary semantics. "Besides, I'm not comfortable with the whole fraternity thing anyway."

"But the membership fees are a lot lower than that apartment you're paying for."

"But I have a job," Matthew countered. "And I'm doing pretty well. I'm not behind... well, not yet. It helps that my roommate splits the cost with me. And I'm saving up all the extra dollars not needed for the room to pay off my student loans before interest starts to pile up too high..."

"I thought you got a scholarship?" Alfred asked, sounding bemused.

"I did, but it was only a partial scholarship, Al." Ha, a scholarship. Practically nonexistent for people like him. But enough scrounging around for every possible option to lighten the cost did pay off. Somewhat. A little. But every little bit counted and his financial situation wasn't dire and hopefully wouldn't be by graduation.

"What? They give partial scholarships? I thought there was either a scholarship or no scholarship, not this partial stuff," Alfred said. Matthew snickered at how hopelessly oblivious he sounded.

"No, they don't. Not everyone gets full scholarships for football either."

"Nope! I knew that!" Alfred said triumphantly. "I know 'cause I'm the best and since not everyone's the best, it makes sense that not everyone would get a full scholarship like me."

"Not quite an eloquent sentence, but whatever," Matthew responded. He squeezed his shoulder and winced at how tight his muscles were clenched. "So were you invited to Elizaveta's party?"

"Hell yeah, buddy! I don't get how she could afford to throw one, though."

"Rich older boyfriend. Maybe twenty-six. Very, very rich. And very in love, I guess you could say. She has him wrapped around her finger."

"Seriously? Does he pay for her college tuition? And books? Does she live with him? Is she twenty-one?"

"Twenty, legally an adult here, so they're relationship is legal... and he's not _that _in love with her... no, I'm just messing with you," Matthew assured his best friend since kindergarten. "She doesn't use him like a trophy wife or sugar daddy or whatever they're called... except when it comes to throwing parties of course. It's at his place. It's pretty big, but mostly it's just for her vast array of friends, not random freeloaders."

"So you're going?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Okay." Alfred sounded rather disappointed, like he was hoping Matthew wouldn't be going. Which immediately set off a warning alert in his mind.

"Why so sad?"

"Sad? Not sad at all. So did you, uh, catch that game on Saturday? You know, the Colts versus the-"

"You know I don't follow that stuff. Why so disappointed? Why don't you think I should come?" Matthew said, prepared to drill him. But oh damn, now the conversation was going on longer than he'd planned and that was no good. He still had things to write. Maybe, though, maybe he could finish it off in the morning? Not ideal, but it wasn't like he was procrastinating. Besides, the essay was due in a week, so maybe he could finish it off on Monday...

"I didn't say you shouldn't! I think you'll have fun. I'm glad in fact! Hey, remember Gilbert? He's going to be there-" Alfred said suggestively, making smoochy noices into the phone. So juvenile. Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Al, I know, he's always messaging me or calling me or texting me."

"Well maybe it's time to respond," Alfred said. "Get out some more, kid! I can practically see your pale introvert complexion from here! You need to get out more! When was the last time your candy ass got laid?"

Matthew spluttered, somewhat offended, somewhat amused, somewhat annoyed. "Excuse me? Candy ass? What does that mean?"

"Uh, that you're gay, clearly a bottom, and you're good in bed?" Alfred suggested.

"I-well," Matthew tilted his head, thinking about it. Hmm, no, not quite. The first definitely. The second? Depended on the other person. And the third? Well, he hadn't been really getting around recently.

"Hey, did Gilbert ever tap that?"

"Hm?"

Alfred repeated his question in a sly, mischevious tone and Matthew could imagine his shit-eating grin. '

"Well..."

"OH MY GOD!" Alfred shrieked into the phone. "You totally did! Oh my god, I need the deats!"

"What? Oh hell no! Why would you want to know?" Matthew cringed. "I'm not getting into my sexual experiences, not at this time at night and not with you."

"No, get into your sexual experiences with Gilly-bert, at the party, or maybe after the party," Alfred purred, and Matthew could practically hear him wiggling his hips.

"I forgot, are you gay?" Matthew asked sarcastically.

"Only once," Alfred said matter-of-factly and his friend coughed embarrassedly, his cheeks coloring as he remembered the incident his friend was refering to.

"You said you'd never mention that again!"

"To someone else, not to you," he replied. "By the way, Mr. Insecure, you are not bad in bed, if that's what you're worried about. Besides, Gilbert's so hung over you that I imagine even if you suck in bed he won't care. He's been wanting to get into your pants since junior high."

"I'm not into him. He's nice and all and I like him, but not like that," Matthew said, repeating what he'd repeated to various people ranging from Elizaveta who'd asked for kinky pictures to Gilbert himself who would pout and sometimes go off to cry somewhere. Then he felt bad.

Gilbert had been rather obsessed with him for a long time. A very long time. Six years. Maybe longer. They'd been friends for a very, very long time and Matthew had "friend-zoned" him a long time ago. Poor Gilbert had never quite made that transition from friend to love interest and every day he was suffering for it.

Matthew felt horrible for rejecting each and every time he asked, but what could he say? For two of those years (freshmen and sophomore), he'd been dating someone else and the other four, he'd been either too young, naive or innocent, take your pick (seventh and eighth grade) or too hurt by the first real relationship he'd ever had to even consider dating his second closest friend (the rest of his lonely high school years and two busy college years) besides Alfred.

"Matthew, I hate to be so mean, but dude, you really need to have sex."

"And why is that?"

"Because you're lonely and you need to move on," Alfred said promptly.

"Alfred, we talked about this," Matthew said, finally giving up and snapping his laptop shut. "I'm over it, really! That was a long time ago! I'm not hurt anymore. I'm not that fragile or sensitive. I'm over... Arthur. I just don't really... want a relationship right now."

"But Mattie, I hate that you're so lonely," Alfred said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "It's really depressing. You never were a social butterfly. You kind of need someone to be there for you and since we're not as... geographically close as we used to be, I can't always be there for you, buddy. You really need to find someone else. And the best way to start a relationship? Getting laid."

"I disagree."

"Well, that's too bad. I think you need sex. And personally, I think you'd seriously enjoy it. So when you go to Elizaveta's party, keep that in mind."

Matthew sighed.

Well, Alfred got points for trying at least.

And he did have a point. Not the sex part! He didn't really need sex! Not at all!

But it would be nice.

And just because you don't need something doesn't mean you don't want, yearn for it.

He missed touching. Caressing. _Kissing. _

Even a simple hug would do. He hadn't hugged anyone for awhile. He enjoyed hugs and he was a generally very huggable guy, a cuddly type, but he didn't like people he didn't know or like very much to touch him.

It had been a while. A long while. He'd been so lonely, for so long. Alfred called and they met occasionally, to watch movies or talk, but the visits were getting far and few between. His dad wasn't really the cuddly type and he was always wrapped up in his job, so his visits were nonexistent. As for his mother, well, she was off in New York City. Something about this new designer she was dating. He couldn't remember who she was chasing now. And the last person he'd had sex, full blown penetration sex with was Alfred.

Sure, he'd given Gilbert a blow job once, something he regreted now, because the poor man's obsession was only fueled further by the action, which had been made with bad, drunken judgment, and that had been years ago, only a year after... he'd broken it off with Arthur. But that didn't count.

Speaking of Arthur, he'd been the last long-term relationship he'd ever had. And after the break-up, well, he'd lost any desire to really participate in their social gatherings until he got to a point where everyone else had backed off, assuming he liked being a loner and only Gilbert doggedly attempted to move their status from friends to boyfriends. Everyone else, however, assumed being alone was what he wanted after a nasty breakup like that. Plus, he had a reputation as an introvert, so to them, the shoe fit.

But it didn't. Quiet didn't equal loner. Shy wasn't the same as anti-social.

Being a loner could be dreadfully and soul-numbingly _lonely _(duh!) and depressing.

Maybe he needed some change.

Maybe now was the time to break his solitude.

Maybe he needed a new friend.

But then again, Matthew grinned to himself, maybe he just really, really needed to get laid.

* * *

_Text-Subject:EH's Party_

_ To:FrenchSexypants_

_Are you too busy to come to Veta's party tomorrow? _

_From: BritSuprrWit_

* * *

_Text-Subject:EH's Party_

_To:FrenchSexypants_

_Frog! Answer me when I text you!_

_From:BritSuprrWit_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:EH's Party_

_To:BritSuprrWit_

_M 'fraid i can't make it. 2 much gng on now. will hookup l8r, tho. ;p_

_From:Frenchsexypants_

* * *

_(No reply)_

* * *

Arthur had no idea why he was dressed up in nice black pants and a clean, tidy white shirt and heading over to the address Elizaveta Hedervary had texted him earlier. He really didn't.

Did he feel like getting drunk? Hell yes. Did he feel like getting laid? Definitely. Did he want to see all of his old friends and enemies and lovers and classmates?

Hell no.

But he was going anyway.

The first two he could've easily done on his own. Go to a bar. Easy as that.

But the reason he couldn't do so was because that option was no longer as easy as it had been once.

One couldn't go out and get drunk off their ass and go have random sex with strangers when one had a boyfriend. No matter how busy and distant their boyfriend happened to be.

No, Arthur was not complaining! He cared aboout Francis Bonnefoy. They were high school sweethearts and as much as he enjoyed making the Frenchman cry and as much as the Frenchman enjoyed arguing and bashing his ideas, both of them enjoyed being together. It was nice.

But, Arthur concluded, it simply wasn't working.

He understood, god he understood! that Francis's job was very hectic and rushed, going from place to place for his photo shoots. He understood that being semi-famous and very, very prestigious could distract a person from their significant other. He really did understand, being there himself. Granted, being a young adult author well-known to New York's best seller list was certainly "semi-famous" in its own right. He did command a certain level of respect in his community.

But he did understand that their situations weren't near the same because Francis had a big reputation having built his way up from the very bottom, a pretty face posted on commercials and on posters to a fashion consultant and a showroom designer to an expert known for his experience and personal fashion savvy. While writing might take more skill (yes, he was going there, Francis... which Arthur would tell him if he was ever around anymore), it certainly doesn't get more prestige than someone who dresses up beautiful men and women and parades them about a stage.

But just because he was understanding didn't mean he had to accept the loneliness he now felt because of his sudden constant aloneness with any grace.

It wasn't working.

But he wasn't sure if he was willing to end it yet.

He and Francis had been on and off for a while. Ever since they started it up in high school, they'd been on and off, alternating depending on whether the week was a "Hate" or "Love" week.

Hate weeks: angry words, shouting, possible physical damage.

Love weeks: angry words, shouting, possibly physically damaging sex.

It wasn't quite a stable relationship, but it was so familiar that now Arthur was having trouble coping with the idea of breaking off all that. It was comfortable. Predictably unstable. Predictably desirable.

But now, he didn't get either of that.

When Francis visited, he was either horny or busy. And he was only horny when Arthur was lucky. When he was busy, he spent his time shut in his room thinking up his next costume design or fashion statement. There was one memorable time when they'd been having sex, one of the naughtier, harsher versions that Arthur would be a filthy liar for denying their attraction, and right after collapsing down on top of his lover, Francis had taken only about three seconds of rest before leaping up and locking himself into his private art studio.

A confused and somewhat hurt Arthur had asked if something was wrong. Two hours later, Francis had shown him his new piece of artwork, "The Feisty British Fervor," a mess of bright colors and sour greens and rusty reds and grudging blues.

How adorable. Arthur had smacked his head. Chuckled a little, thinking it was a little cute.

Francis had laughed as well, but at that moment, Arthur's heart began to doubt itself.

He still loved Francis. Without a doubt.

But he wasn't sure if it was as a boyfriend anymore.

Arthur sighed, thumping his head against the steering wheel as he considered his relationship problems. He'd never been good with relationships, never! Not since his first relationship.

He frowned.

His first relationship. Who had he been with?

His eyebrows furrowed and his frown deepened. Why couldn't he remember it? Everything else in his high school years came back, fuzzy but surely, but for some reason, his first love escaped him. The face just wouldn't resurface into his mind.

It had been a guy, he remembered.

And the guy had been... blond?

Maybe it had been Alfred Jones? He remembered Alfred Jones. He'd had a crush on him once, a long time ago, but the man was straight, or at least, claimed to be, even though everyone knew he'd slept with this one guy, this really quiet guy, this... oh bloody hell, why couldn't he remember the damn name or at least the face? A shy guy, very quiet and polite and sensitive. Blond... blond...

...wait, no, not blond. Light brown hair. Cute eyes. Blue... no, violet. And he had glasses, adorable little glasses and a timid smile... damn.

What was his name?

A car horn honked obnoxiously at him.

Arthur jumped in shocked, slamming his foot down on the pedal. His car surprised him by doing what it was made to do and jerking forward far faster than he anticipated. His fingers gripped the wheel like his life depended on it and perhaps it did, for the car behind him was forced to jerk to a stop when he slammed his foot down on the brake in surprise. Now several people were honking at him, probably wondering what was wrong with this spastic idiot.

Arthur didn't return to the thought of his first love until he was safely away from the people whose traffic flow he'd ruined.

And when he did, he made sure to promptly pull over to the side of the road to ponder what felt like a significant detail he'd forgotten, lost, perhaps, at one time.

"Nathan? Martin? Maple?" he suggested outloud to himself. "Maple? Where the hell did I get that? Marty? Mark? Marcus? No, that's not right. Murray? Mackenzie? Matthew?"

Eureka! At that point, he'd just been rattling off what felt right, and finally, the most common name that had come to mind was the right one! Perfect! That was it! Matthew!

Matthew... Matthew...

It had been a very generic name, he remembered. Matthew Jones? Matthew Smith?

No, they didn't sound quite right...

Ah. Matthew Williams.

Shy, sweet, kind, utterly adorable.

Now he remembered his face easily. He'd been a very pretty teenager, Arthur remembered. He wondered where Matthew was suddenly, wondering how he'd gotten off in life. He hadn't see him since...

A dreadful stone dropped in his gut.

Oh yes. That was how his first relationship had ended. He'd cheated on Matthew with Francis.

A filthy cheater. Not a liar or a murderer or a rapist, but a cheater, which might as well be a crime.

He sighed regretfully.

He hadn't meant to hurt the poor boy. He'd loved Matthew, he really did, but with Francis, things had just been so exciting and dirty and primal and he'd felt so exhilarated by Francis, so excited by the danger he presented, and his nymphomaniac tendencies. His teenager years had been very exciting, what with the drugs and alcohol and new "hits" and all the concerts and raves and grope-fests he'd attended. Those years, he'd been practically uncontrollable, wild and delirious with his insane glee, with his youthful desire for that adrenaline high, ecstatic in his own cloud of arousal and indulgence.

And Matthew simply hadn't fit in with that atmosphere.

He was a wonderful kid and a good friend, but... he just wasn't as... interesting as Francis. He was the polite, good kid, the kind of guy you dated when your life was pleasant and satisfying. He wasn't a bad kid, not at all, in fact, Arthur was sure that even to this day Matthew Williams didn't have a mean bone in his body, but he just wasn't what he'd wanted.

He wondered if Matthew would be at the party tonight. Was he still in touch with Elizaveta? He didn't know. Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Did he want him to be there?

Yes, Arthur decided. It would be nice to catch up. Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

_Text-Subject:Matthew_

_To:AlHeroJones50_

_Yo, heard Mattie's cming to the party 2nite. thanx, man!_

_From:GilBel1918_

* * *

_Text-Subject:Matthew_

_To:GilBel1918_

_UR username is girly. N yeah, he's coming. dont screw around w/ him u hear? u hurt his feelings or get drunk n do something dumb, i will prsnlly end u, got it?_

_From:AlHeroJones50_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:Matthew_

_To:AlHeroJones50_

_Dude, like never! i luv mattie! would never hurt him. i'm just glad he's coming. i get to see him. i havent seen him in AGES._

_From:GilBel1918_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:Matthew_

_To: GilBel1918_

_yeh, meh b when u 2 get 2gether, u can ahah, get him coming, if u know what i mean... *wink wink, nudge nudge*_

_From: AlHeroJones50_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:RE:Matthew_

_To: AlHeroJones50_

_u r as subtle as a dead horse in the middle of the highway._

_n i hope so, i rlly do. i luv him so much, but he doesn't like me like dat._

_but u know, there was this 1 time..._

_From:GilBel1918_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:RE:Matthew_

_To: GilBel1918_

_OMG, he was jus talkin bout dat a sec ago! giv me teh deats!_

_From:AlHeroJones50_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:RE:RE:Matthew_

_To:AlHeroJones50_

_HE WAS TALKIN ABOUT ME?!_

_he is soooooo mine 2nite!_

_From:GilBel1918_

* * *

Matthew wasn't really used to the party scene. He'd attended a few, but never one so large and certainly never one in such a formal, regal-looking place. Now he felt like he'd under-dressed, wearing black cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt while everyone else was dressed semi-formally with ties and polished shoes.

But no one was glaring at him or really even looking at him, so no one was really studying his outfit.

Yup, it was just like high school all over again.

He took a long gulp of his beer.

Yup, semi-formal but with beverages for college students, not adults.

Weird, considering their host, who seemed like the stuffy type to serve only wine, but oddly enough, there was a punch bowl besides a few bottles of whine, cans of beer in a box next to that, and a tub of ice filled with multiple alcoholic beverages in easily-opened bottles. Just perfect.

When Matthew had arrived, Elizaveta Hedervary herself had met him at the door and had grabbed his arm and yanked him over to meet Roderich Edelstein, the young man she was dating and the current host. He'd stiffly introduced himself and his home, Edelstein Manor, gravely shaking his hand and announcing that he was very pleased to meet a friend of Veta's.

Elizaveta had told him to lighten up.

"He's not for keeps, but if you like, the three of us could get it on," the nymphomaniac had whispered.

Matthew had gone red as a cherry almost instantly.

"You two could make out for me," she said slightly louder, glancing playfully at Roderich, whose eyes widened almost imperceptibly before narrowing. He'd looked away, out of embarrassment or disdain, Matthew couldn't verify, and his girlfriend giggled.

"Just playing. But seriously, keep an eye out. There are plenty of eligible men here. And cameras in the bedrooms."

"What?"

"Nothing."

He'd been somewhat early, but he always was slightly early, out of habit.

He'd spent his time admiring the chandeliers, drinking more than he probably should've, and thinking that this was definitely different from the wild high school parties Alfred and Gilbert had thrown.

Ah yes, Gilbert's party. He'd had beer and drugs and all kinds of illegal shit.

And he'd gotten a blowob from his intoxicated crush.

How bad he felt for leading Gilbert on like that!

He'd apologized profusely, but no matter how much he hurt Gilbert by telling him it was a mistake, there was still a hopeful glint glimmering in his red eyes whenever the albino saw him.

His tenacity and his obstinacy were commendable, but it frustrated and saddened Matthew to think that his friend was pining after someone who couldn't return his feelings.

"Hello Matthew-san."

He glanced up.

"Hello Kiku. God, it's been a long time," he said, giving the Japanese student a half-smile.

"It has," Kiku said in that curt way of his, bowing slightly before proceeding to the punch bowl. Matthew was about to call out a warning (this was Elizaveta, who was infamous for drugging punch bowls), but he didn't because he didn't want to offend her. And she probably wouldn't pull such a childish prank, not now that she was more mature.

Hopefully.

Matthew couldn't really tell anymore. Would she?

She still seemed as perverted as ever, but it was more a knowing-twinkle in her eyes. Back when he and... Arthur had been together, they had been savagely shining with a disturbing light, like she could see what went on behind bedroom doors and it wasn't as _rape-tastic _as she was imagining, not nearly as kinky or exciting as she wanted it to be, so she could change that. Yes, she could definitely do something about a tame bedroom situation in exchange for a personal video...

Matthew shuddered.

"Kiku, maybe you should stay away from the punch bowl..."

* * *

Let's pause at this moment. You see, Matthew's memory of the party isn't completely important.

A lot of it is complete unnecessary and irrelevant to the story.

So to properly portray how he felt during the party and what happened without getting too meticulous and boring and diverging from the important parts, we'll simply count the amount of times Matthew took a long drink from an alcoholic beverage.

One: He took a gulp as more and more people arrived. As the rooms got more crowded, he got more nervous. He'd been out of touch for a while and this many people intimidated him.

Two: When Gilbert arrived, he did his best not the meet the other's eyes, but that tends to be very hard when the object in question has no problem finding you in a crowd.

Three: He took quite a few sips with the albino, who seemed even more hopeful for heartbreak than when he'd last seen him.

Four: When Elizaveta suggested they finish what they'd started earlier (she'd clearly been referencing that blowjob, which she had seen/heard from someone) with a sly wink.

Five: When Alfred arrived with a booming laughter that practically shook the rafters along with several rowdy football-type guys Matthew didn't know.

Six: As Gilbert got more drunk, Matthew found that his head was feeling oddly light and warm and he stopped pushing Gilbert's wandering hands away. Another gulp as he understood where this seemed to be going.

Seven: Another sip as Gilbert wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He didn't shrug him away.

Eight: And another when that hand came to his waist and the albino's white hair nestled into his neck.

Nine: Another gulp. Gilbert's hands got progressively lower every five seconds. He let him. Isn't that why he came here? To get laid? His mind kept nagging him, saying he didn't want to lead Gilbert on, but he took a gulp of beer to shut it up. He was no light-weight, but he hadn't done this for a long time. When was the last time he'd gotten really plastered?

Ten: Gilbert was laughing now, boldly declaring himself king of Canada and fourteen American states. Matthew cheerfully supported the statement, clapping and laughing with glee. The drinks started to stack up in his mind and he felt like he was floating on a pleasant breeze. And then, Gilbert kissed him and he felt like he'd been lifted up and was now basking in the sun's warmth. Objectivity vanished.

Eleven: They were kissing now, but no one noticed because at that time, either you were plastered, nearly there, or passed out exhausted. So much for semi-formal. But hey, it was college. They weren't really adults yet, no matter what the calendar said.

Thirteen: A gulp. Alfred came over, then promptly pivoted on a dime and left the two alone. By now, Matthew's grip on his bottle (where had his cup gone?) and his grip on why he could never, ever be with Gilbert had loosened considerably as well.

Fourteen: The pleasant buzz was now a whirlwind of colorful thoughts and emotions and he felt happy, happier than he'd felt in a long time. He had good friends everywhere, all of them smiling and laughing around him and he had a handsome man hugging, kissing, wanting him. How could things get better?

Fifteen: The answer? They couldn't. So they got worse instead.

Arthur Kirkland suddenly appeared in the crowd of dancing, smiling, drunken used-to-be peers. He held a glass of wine in his hand, but hadn't drank much of it.

The shock and the displeasure hit him like a freight train, leaving his head suddenly rather clear, horrifyingly functional.

Arthur stopped as his eyes caught Matthew's, slightly shocked/amused? to see Gilbert and Matthew very, _very _close, pressed very, very close to one another and swaying slightly to the music, which had gotten steadily darker and sexier the later it got.

Arthur stared at him, his emotions unreadable.

Another gulp.

* * *

**Just three chapters, I promise. Don't kill me. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia**

**Author's Notes**

_Thoughts/ Flashbacks/ Texting_

Notes/ Letters

"Talking"

**Simple enough, no? **

**Alright, so this is a short fic dedicated to England/Canada which doesn't get enough love. **

**Warning: This has a drunken sex scene. You have been warned. If you're not into mansex, then don't read it. **

**And no flaming! If you don't like yaoi, then go away! And if you don't like sex scenes, well too bad! I'm writing them until FFN bans me! Besides, it's not that bad, since I'm not too good at this stuff.**

* * *

**Texts From the Past:**

_Text-Subject:Hi_

_To: ArthrKLand_

_Hey, you want to meet up today?_

_From: Matthieu103_

* * *

_Text-Subject:Hi_

_To:Matthieu103_

_Sure thing, love. I'm heading over right now. _

_From:ArthrKLand_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:Hi_

_To:ArthrKLand_

_You don't have to come over. We could meet somewhere in between or at your place. _

_From:Matthieu103_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:Hi_

_To:Matthieu103_

_Aww, but I want to!_

_From:ArthrKLand_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:REHi_

_To:ArthrKLand_

_I love you so much. See you soon._

_From:Matthieu103_

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

Aw shit.

Arthur Kirkland.

My brain froze up and suddenly I felt very sweaty. Shit.

Arthur Kirkland. My heart seemed to stop.

So much for "over him," right?

Shit, he's coming over! And I'm not exactly feel my best at the moment...

"Hello... Matthew," he said.

"And Gilbert," Gilbert added, giggling a little. "Hi, Artie, it's been aaaa wwwhile, hasn't it? I've been-been thunking-thinking that you didn't want to see me or something-!" His grip tightened around my waist.

"Of course not, I've just been terribly busy," Arthur replied, somewhat condescendingly.

"So you have been avoiding me?" Gilbert asked, with somewhat clarity. "Of course! Is it 'cause you don't like me? It's ok if you don't, it really is, 'cause I never-ever really liked you! And you know what-you know?" Suddenly, he let go of me and he lurched forward, grabbing Arthur by the shoulders. I flinched a little, worried about what Gilbert was going to do in his current inebriated state.

"It's 'cause you hurt poor Matthew's feelings here," he said. He was trying to whisper, but when you're drunk, your whisper-voice is at the level of a shout to people with normal hearing. Several party-goers glanced over at us, some embarrassed, some interested, and some just glancing. "And I-I never would've treated him bad and it'snotfairthatyougothimwhenIwa stheonewhoreallywantedhim."

"What was that last?" Arthur asked, his bushy eyebrows flattening to an almost normal thickness. I grabbed Gilbert's arm and yanked him back and put a hand over his mouth.

"I-Ignore him, he's very drunk," I stammered, trying very hard not to sound too drunk myself. Damn, I wish I hadn't drunk so much! Why hadn't I anticipated Arthur's presence here? He and Elizaveta were still friends, duh, that should've been a warning! "And-and... you know?" I smiled awkwardly.

Then Gilbert licked my hand and I released his mouth, my cheeks flushing a dark, dark red that would've matched the blood rushing to my face. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears and I prayed to the gods that right now, at this opportune moment, please give me a heart attack so that I can get into an ambulance and just-!

"So-um, how are you doing?"

My eyes perceptibly widened.

He sounded nervous.

Arthur Kirkland, the wittiest, sharpest-minded, harshest-tongued Brit with a reputation for being bitter, stubborn, and dry sounded like a freshmen talking to his first crush.

Instantly, my admittedly frail confidence soared.

"I-uh, been good," I said, nodding. My eyes closing as I tried to keep the room in focus. Gilbert mumbled something and sat down a hard thump. "Um, you okay, Gil?"

"No," he sighed. "I was so close, then-now stuff's ruined...thanksalotArtie."

"What?"

"Nothing."

He leaned back and I concentrated worriedly on his face. He seemed disappointed, sour almost, and he suddenly looked sober, like all of his problems had been pushed away by booze but had then come back to swarm around his head again.

Ah, how being sober sucks!

He looked sober. I wasn't sure if he was though. Poor guy. I was still feeling buzzed myself, so my own moment of sudden soberness wasn't quite there yet.

"You okay, Gilbert?"

"Mm-hmm."

* * *

_Text-Subject: (none)_

_To: HondaKiku6852_

_i hope mattie gets laid 2nite. preferably hard, hahahah!_

_From:theTrueAmericanHero_

* * *

_Text-Subject: (none)_

_To:theTrueAmericanHero_

_He and Gilbert seem to be "hitting it off" as I believe you Americans say._

_From:HondaKiku6852_

* * *

_Text-Subject: (none)_

_To:HondaKiku6852_

_Srsly man? AWESOME! hope he gets laid 2nite! plus, meh b mattie will finally be happy!_

_maybe wen he wakes up tmrow he'll have a bf 2!_

_From:theTrueAmericanHero_

* * *

**First Person POV: Gilbert**

Damn that damn Kirkland stepping in like that!

I glared at him weakly from my position of weakness. From down here, he looked like he was smirking down at me, like he was saying, _You see, Gilbert? Matthew will never be yours, just look at the way he's looking at me. It's been years that he's been rejecting you and it's been years since we were dating, but he _still_ looks like he's in love with me. Can't you see it, in his eyes? He likes me, not you. Give it up. _

Damn. I glanced sourly at Matthew, whose eyes were firmly glued on the British twit. Damn, damn, damnit!

What was so great about him? He was a bitter guy with an inflated sense of self-importance and a condescending disdain for humans beings that bordered on pessimism somewhere akin to nihilism. What does Matthew see in this guy?!

And more importantly, what doesn't he see in me?

My night's ruined.

I was hoping to get laid tonight, or at least get Matthew to see me in a different light. I was so close, but once again, I'm foiled by the foppish Brit.

_It's been years, it's been four years, it's been four years and he hasn't been in a relationship with me for all that time. All that time, you've been chasing him and he's rejected you. But after all those years, he still gets that soppy look in his eyes, that adoring smile on his face, and it's all for me, the guy who dumped him!_

_Give up, Gilbert. Just give up and save yourself the trouble. _

Things seriously suck.

And you can tell they _really _suck because I'm drunk right now, but I still have the capacity to feel disappointed, let-down, and a failure. All my hurt feelings are swelling up inside my body and I just want to fling them at the two of them, curse and swear and insult Arthur and beg, please oh please, will you please take me, Matthew? Please, what is it I can do to make you want me the way I want you? I miss you so much, I love you so much and I'd never leave you and I've never hurt you, oh please, why can't it be me you stare at like that-?

God, I need to get more plastered.

I didn't want to leave the two of them at it, but the desire to drown away my feelings overrode that desire, so I stumbled off in search of more booze...

Besides, when Kirkland was in the room, it's like no one else exists in Matthew's eyes...

* * *

**First Person POV: Arthur**

"I heard you've been into-ah, marketing?"

_Brilliant, just brilliant Kirkland. _

I felt like every light in the room was directed at me. Damn, was it just me or was it hot in here?

Matthew stared at me, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with this weirdo.

"I've been studying for a bachelor's degree in Marketing," he said. "I've been considering a position in the marketing field like an Account Executive or Marketing Manager or just a Strategy Analyst."

My, did he have to sound so put together?

My throat felt ridiculously dry. I took a sip of the wine from the glass in my hand, my face flushing with Matthew's eyes on me. I chanced a quick look and he seemed polite, distant. Not overly interested, but interested enough not to simply ignore me.

My body felt jittery and my legs felt weak.

Suddenly Gilbert stood up and lurched away, murmuring something about not being drunk enough.

"Um, are you sure you should be standing up?" Matthew murmured, grabbing a hold of Gilbert's well-toned arm, his bright violet eyes concerned. I felt something unfamiliar spike through my chest, setting my teeth on edge.

"'M fine. You two can be alone," he practically spat me, his eyes hard with an emotion I couldn't read. Jealousy? Hate? Sadness? Fury? I only had a second before he abruptly turned his back on me and walked away.

"He seems depressed, don't you think?" Matthew said. My eyes immediately flew back to him, focusing on his face.

I didn't expect him to look so well.

I mean, not that I expected him to be ugly or something! I just didn't expect him to look so... inviting.

His face, once round and cute, had filled out well, now sharper and smoother, more mature. His hair was longer than I remembered, falling to the nape of his graceful neck. He was taller than he'd once been. He used to be half a foot smaller than me, but now he was almost taller than me. When he was a teenager, he'd been awkward, with those awkward adolescent curves and edges and gawky angles. Awkward.

But now, his height and his weight corresponded smoothly. His white shirt hugged his skin, showing off a slender, willowy body made up of lean muscle. All the angles had smoothed out into curves, the delicious kind of curves you wanted to rest your hands on. His skin was delicately pale, no longer discolored and shaded the way it had been in the old days, shaded with red blotches and dry skin. His smile was no longer half-hearted or meek; it was gentle and understanding.

And a little bit awkward.

That gave me a little confidence. He was still the same Matthew behind the all-grown-up body. Still the same awkward little Mattie.

"I don't know. He seems more bitter, which is definitely how I remember him, so I'm not sure," I said. Okay, still not at my best, but can you blame me? If your first boyfriend, a kid you saw as more of a friend than a romantic interest, suddenly appears looking not only sexy, but beautiful and self-assured and more amazingly attractive than he ever did when you were kids, wouldn't you bathe in the awkwardness of the moment?

"Right," he said, letting out a little laugh to cover up the awkwardness I was making.

My eyes zoomed in on his lips.

Did he always have such alluring lips? Were they always so noticeable or was that the wine talking? I hadn't been drinking too much, had I?

"You know Gilbert is jealous of you," Matthew said suddenly. Then he blushed.

"Ah-uh, I did not know. What of, specifically?" I asked, distracted the by sudden color change in his face.

"I-uh, it's nothing, really," he mumbled. "So I've heard you've been writing popular young adult novels. How's that going?"

"Uh, yes, I have! It's been going really well, actually. I've been on the New York's Bestseller list for quite a while now," instantly I regretted saying it. Now I sounded like a total self-absorbed twat. God, why didn't things come out the way they were meant to when I was talking to him? Then it occured to me: I've never been this nervous talking to him. Why the change? He was still the same Matthew I knew.

_Get your head together, Kirkland._

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

I don't know if it was the booze, but suddenly I wasn't feeling so upset to see him anymore. It was probably the beer talking, but maybe we could catch up. Be friends again. I didn't have to act or feel like a lovesick fool around him. That was so high school. I hadn't seen him in two years. Plenty of time to get over it, right? He was a mature adult and you know what? So was I. I came here wanting to find a friend. Maybe I could get in touch with a few of the originals.

"That's really great," I complimented him.

"Ah, it's nothing," he said.

"Don't be so modest," I grinned at him. "You're famous. You know what people say when I go the lectures? They say 'you seriously went to school with Arthur England, aka old Iggy Kirkland? That is so cool!' You should see when I tell them I actually dated you. It's the only time they've ever been jealous of me."

I sneaked a glance at him. I felt a little exposed now, like I'd revealed something deep and secret, but I shook the feeling off. It really wasn't.

Be mature, Matthew. Don't be such a child. That's a perfectly okay thing to say.

"I suppose so. I mean, the critics don't think so!" Arthur said, his voice somewhat high-pitched. He laughed and I smiled, a little awkwardly because the laugh seemed very forced. He was staring at me strangely. I couldn't tell why.

Was he upset to see me here?

Was there something wrong with my hair? I tried to resist the urge to pat it down to make sure.

"Oh, yes. I saw a few reviews of it," I said.

"Did you read any of... them?" Arthur asked.

"Of course," I said earnestly. Then I thought about killing myself for sounding so eager. "I've read three. I thought they were a little unfair when it came to... _The End of the New Era_. And it wasn't fair to say that _As Cold as Fire _was a terrible romance, because I thought it was an amusing satire of a romance. They didn't really get that, did they?"

A new light had begun to glow in Arthur's eyes.

"Thank you! You understand! I was lampooning the classical romance, not trying to please some silly, shallow women wishing to live their fantasies through the indulgent world of Nicholas Spark's flights of idealism. Romances aren't nowhere near as cliched as our imaginations would have us believe! And love is messy and chaotic and complicated. It's not something you can really know and recognize at 'first sight.' I can't believe women believe in that nonsense! It's all a bag of shite!"

He was talking about love. How romantic. And sexy. He was the same old Arthur, opinionated and judgmental and so, so sexy about it.

I began shaking my head, a smile steadily growing on my face. My intoxicated mind was starting to hurt, but it was a pleasurable hurt, like a vibration that felt harsh on tender skin, the kind of harsh you want rubbed all over... oh god, my metaphors are getting more and more perverted. It's definitely the alcohol. Maybe I should bail before I start to tear off my clothing.

_Isn't that why you came here? _

"Be quiet, drunk mind," I said outloud.

"What?" he said.

"Okay, I've been shitting you," I giggled. "I've been very, very drunk for a while now. I am not in my right mind right now. Could you tell?"

* * *

**Third Person POV**

Arthur laughed raucously.

It was almost midnight. Most people were outside of Edelstein Manor, all of them laughing and giggling, some of them hugging one another around the waist to keep from falling over, some just watching on. He'd consumed a considerable amount of wine and vodka, which was definitely a mistake, but at one point, they'd run out of wine and Roderich only had vodka and other spirits as reserves. Later, Arthur would regret it when the two mixed together and he was vomiting over a toilet, but his night was just starting. When it ended, he would regret it. But for now, he would enjoy the moment.

The two of them were the only ones still inside. They were sitting on the couch togeter, the both of them smiling and giggling at pretty much everything from the carpet to the unremarkable white ceiling.

"I just-I just don't think the world ap-appreciates my genus! I mean genius! I mean... no, wait, that is what I meant," Arthur said bemusedly. Matthew looked at him lazily, his head lolling a little. He was feeling a little dizzy, a little whoozy. He'd been plastered before Arthur, so his drunkness was out-of-his-mind drunk while his British friend's drunkness was more of the giggly-the-world-is-crap-but-I-don't-care drunk.

Which is why, later, as well as being sick out of his mind, Arthur would regret what he was about to do.

"Ha, Arthur, you really, you don't know just how-I mean, you don't know how lucky Francis is!"

Suddenly his wandering mind jerked back on track.

"Wha-what was that?"

"I mean... Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," Matthew snorted. He fell to his side, his head falling directly into his lap. "What I meant was that Francis doesn't realize how lucky _he _is! I mean, you're a smart guy and you're sour, but you're nice and compassionate and witty. _You've _always got something clever to say and you've got a lot of-got a lot of depth. I like that. It's nice. And you're not overly talkative either! You know, I was never much of a talker, but you-you were never much of one either. You dropped a sarcastic quip and an acerbic opinion and people-people always ignored it because they thought you was, were just being grouchy and pessimistic, but I always new be-er. I mean better. Hahah, beer!"

Arthur erupted into giggles.

"You know, no one's ever noticed that. Thank you for noticing... dat! It's pretty-pretty taken for granted. Just-just like you."

Matthew's head shifted. "What?"

"Everyone thinks you're that quiet kid, the nice, boring one, but they're wrong. You're such a good guy and you're such a-such a beautiful individual and I-I really fucked up, didn't I?"

Even when you're drunk you are capable of feeling more than happiness. Matthew was experiencing alcohol-induced giddiness, but now he felt a little touched. And both were too drunk to really consider how awkward the moment would be if they were sober.

Come to think of it, the moment probably would never had happened without the presence of alcohol.

Matthew sat up abruptly. Arthur folded his legs and turned to face Matthew. The brunette chuckled and did the same, noting that the two of them were like high school girls about to hold each others hands and tell stories and gossip.

"I'm sorry," Arthur blurted. "I'm really sorry. I just used you. I wanted a boyfriend so that Francis would stop hitting on me. But then-then I realized you were more than just a nice guy. You're sensitive and gentle and fragile, but-but you're not a pushover, you know? You're not weak-minded or weak-willed and you're super-intelligent and people don't realize it. You don't talk, you listen. And you don't-you don't think about yourself, you think about others first. It's so-so kind of you. And I know I'm a skeptic, a cycnic, and something of a misanthrope, but-but you know, someone like you is-is a once-in-a-lifetime guy. Any-any guy who has you is damn lucky!"

Matthew started crying. He nodded, his eyes bright and teary, his smile disconnected and broken looking.

He grasped Arthur's hands in his, unconsciously rubbing the rough skin.

"Then why did you cheat on me?"

* * *

**Texts from the Past:**

_Text-Subject: (none)_

_To: McDonald'sIsGod_

_Arthur, thank you so much for the sweater! I loved it! Did you really knit it by yourself?_

_From: Matthieu103_

* * *

_Text-Subject: (none)_

_To:Matthieu103_

_Srsly? Dat lame ass rly knitted it? c i told u he was a pansy!_

_god, that is so lame. _

_From:McDonald'sIsGod_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE: (none)_

_To:McDonald'sIsGod_

_I don't understand why you don't like Arthur. _

_From:Matthieu103_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE: (none)_

_To: Matthieu103_

_i dont get how a nice gy liek u cud like an ass like him. he is such a jerk! _

_i dont think u shud date him. he's gonna break ur heart 1 day._

_From:McDonald'sIsGod_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:RE: (none)_

_To:McDonald'sIsGod_

_Don't worry about me. I'll be fine, Al. _

_Love you, buddy._

_From:Matthieu103_

* * *

**First Person POV: Arthur**

Guilt hit me like a truck slamming into, well, me. Only, it was an emotional hit, and a really hard one at that.

Sorry, I'm feeling weird. I can't enunciate properly.

Hmm, how did I explain it? How do you explain your heart cracking and shattering into a million tiny shards, all painfully coated with a burning poison exploding and scathing your insides, writhing and boiling against your vital organs and reminding you,

_Psst, you remember your heart? Remember where it used to be? Remember when it used to work? When it was functioning right? Psst, not it's gone. Now it'll never be the same, not after it broke. Not it'll always be just a memory of how it used to be. Your organs may work, your mind may be in tact, hell, your heart might still be pumping blood and oxygen into your brain, but..._

_...the emptiness_

_...is still_

_...there_

_...and your heart_

_...feels like it's_

_...still broken, dead,_

_...even when it's still beating._

Damn, I am good! That must be the poet in me. Maybe I should write that down. Oh wait, what? Where was I?

Oh yeah. Kissing the shit out of my former boyfriend who I treated like shit because I thought he was just some kid, whose name I forgot until now, whose heart I effectively crushed the way mine felt oh-so-recently.

Oh wait, I wasn't there? Oh what the heck.

I couldn't think. I couldn't think of what to say when Matthew looked at me with his beautiful, soppy, sensitive, big, violet eyes and peered right into my heart, my cold, still-beating heart at the time, and asked me in a heart-broken voice why I cheated. And why had I cheated? Why, why, why. The word beat alonside my heart, thumping louder and louder every passing second, pounding faster and faster until I felt the word explode inside of me.

...Boom...

...perfectly in sync with my heart.

Haha, perfect metaphor for what I was feeling. See? See? I'm a genius! I mentioned earlier how love was messy?

Oh, wait, you don't care about that.

So an explosion of feelings made me feel like utter shit because how could someone cheat on someone as lovely as Matthew? I stared at him, wanting to give him an answer, but I just couldn't.

How do you explain to someone that you cheated because they weren't what you wanted, what you fantasized about? How did you tell someone you loved them, but not the way they clearly loved you? How did you apologize for being an idiot, for mindlessly throwing away a love that you didn't think you wanted?

Only asshole play with people feelings like that. But I'm more than an asshole, because I played with his feelings.

And I smashed them into pieces and left him for dead out in the cold.

And now, how did I explain the motivation for my actions?

I couldn't remember. Not when drunk and maybe not even when sober, because my boyfriend Francis, the one I crushed your feelings for? I was getting tired of him. And I was thinking about dumping him the way I dumped you all those years ago.

Damn, don't I feel like a prick now?

I looked into Matthew's eyes, thinking about how painful my revelation was going to be.

But then my mind began to drift again (I blame the alcohol). I ended up staring at his lips instead.

And then a brilliant idea came to me, a brilliant way to get out of explaining what a dick I was.

Well, it seemed brilliant at the time.

I lunged forward and kissed him directly on the mouth, grabbing his silky, pretty brown hair and kissed him like my life depended on it.

And well, my heart was broken, my mind was lost in a world of a drunken haze, and my body was aching, so maybe I was dying.

I don't know. I can't justify my actions from there. I certainly didn't feel like my normal eloquent self. I didn't feel like Arthur England. I felt like old, unnoticed, unknown and insignificant Iggy Kirkland.

But kissing Matthew so fiercely and holding him so tightly, so fiercely (did I already say that? Oops, whatever) to my chest made me easily embrace old Iggy Kirkland.

That and a helluva lot of beer.

But shhh, don't ruin the moment.

* * *

**Third Person POV**

Elizaveta Hedervary had many needs.

One, of course, was food. Water. Shelter. All the necessary needs of her life, all the things she couldn't live without.

But then, there were the things she wanted so badly that if she didn't have them then her life might as well be meaningless.

Roderich. Love. Affection. Long nights together and waking up in the morning knowing he's there.

Some might've said it was "romantized notion" and a cliche but when you consider that she had all of these things, the notion was not only possible but a reality.

Elizaveta Hedervary was a good person. She was kind and good-hearted and humorous and strong-willed with a strong sense of morals. She knew right from wrong and knew assholes from good people. She had a temper, but it wasn't a bad thing at all, merely her sense of injustice was somewhat inflated.

A good person. She'd never cheat on her husband and would never use him for his money.

But sometimes, well, sometimes she had more needs.

And one of those needs was sex.

Good, hard, rotten to the core, dirty _sex, _plain and simple. It was no secret her sexual preferences were very... deviant, to say the least.

It was no secret that she had a great deal of kinks and preferences, all very specific and well-thought out.

She wasn't a slut, certainly, but she was most definitely not an innocent school girl.

Unless you wanted her to be.

-giggle-

Elizaveta, at the moment, was very disappointed in her party so far.

Oh, the people were lovely, yes, and she was having a nice time catching up with them. Roderich seemed to like her friends and was having a very "cultured" exchange with Ludwig over whether Mozart was a German or an Austrian, and everyone seemed very happy and excited, what with the drinking and dancing and general tomfoolery (Heracles putting a lamp on Sadiq's head, Veneziano mooning the shy and very embarrassed Kiku, Alfred strip-teasing a dozen girls with an erotic dance that Elizaveta's pictures had caught and would be used for blackmail later). It was crazy, but not too out of control.

But things just weren't as sexy as she'd been hoping for.

Kiku and Heracles were definitely sexually attracted to one another despite Kiku claiming heterosexuality, and she was hoping enough drink would get them doing the dirty in one of Roderich's ready bedrooms. But while Heracles would've happily done so, Kiku hadn't drunk enough to lose all of his inhibitions. He still skirted away from Heracles's overly-friendly hands, though now he was at least smiling.

Sadiq and Heracles definitely had some sort of hate-sex relationship going on, but thus far, Sadiq had only shown the hate part and didn't seem to interested in the latter.

Veneziano and Ludwig? Drunk enough to kiss in public, but Veneziano wasn't used to beer and he was looking ready to pass out any second. He was leaning on Ludwig now and they probably weren't going to do anything dirty here. The German would probably just take him home.

No, nothing too sexy going on with them.

But oddly enough, the last person she'd expect to want to get down and dirty in her house while knowing she was a bona fide pervert/voyeur was the one giving her the most material.

When Matthew Williams had arrived, she'd done her customary teasing. The most she'd expected from him?

Maybe a kiss on the cheek, or on the lips, maybe a little timid makeout session.

When Kiku had spotted Gilbert and Matthew making out like they were, well, drunk, she'd squee'd and rushed over there. She'd gotten a maybe 0.20 second long video of them rubbing lips and bodies, (oh how sexy two men could be together), but then they'd stopped.

And there had been little to no action after that. What a disappointment. Oh well. Maybe she should just stop being so childish.

Well, no, not childish. A child wouldn't get a sexual rush when seeing two men (or, occasionally, women) going down on each other.

No, she wasn't childish, she was immature. Adolescent. Yes, that better fit her.

She wandered off a little, her head a little dizzy, her brain mildly buzzed. She knew not to drink too much. Never get too drunk when planning on being a voyeur. You really need your wits about you when being a pervert.

She briefly considered finding Roderich to see how he was getting on, but her mind wasn't intent on this. She'd last seen him speaking with a new friend of hers, a guy named Vash. They seemed to have taken something of a liking to one another, despite being very different in personality. Guess Vash was going to star in one of her doujinshis... she really needed to see Kiku about that. She had a storyline and a setting in her head, but he was the excellent artist, so-

Elizaveta stepped into the living room on the bottom floor. It was somewhat messy. Someone had knocked over a vase earlier and the fragments were still there along with a few red stains that she knew Roderich would be very displeased with. There were some scuff marks on the floors and walls and even, somehow, on the ceiling (the hell?). And the cushions from the red couch were scattered everywhere. The mirror that had hung over the table had been taken down... for some reason. She wondered where it ended up and why it had disappeared.

All in all, very tame. Not bad. No vomit on anything except the lawns and in the kitchen sink/ trash can and the toilets. Thankfully once he vomited, he left, usually with someone more sober to drive.

And then, she heard a moan.

Carefully, using her Pervert Stealth, she edged over to the wall and peered at the source of the noise.

And when she saw who it was, she silently squee'd inside her head.

Arthur Kirkland. Grumpy, middle-aged going on twenty-one British author Arthur Kirkland, her childhood friend, the one who used to hit people with whatever book he was reading... was shoving his tongue down her quiet, polite, and well-mannered friend Matthew Williams' throat. Kissing him like his life depended on it. Shoving the shy Canadian down into the couch and rubbing against him like a cat, nuzzling into his neck, and groaning the way a dog growls.

She gasped.

She'd struck gold.

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

What happened after Arthur began to kiss me? Honestly, I don't remember, not clearly.

I remember the emotions I felt, I remember vague, blurry images of that night, and I remember Gilbert's hurt face and Alfred's scandalized, furious face, but the exact details escape me.

A cauldron of emotions washed over me, overwhelming me with a sense of pain. Old pains I'd thought I left behind suddenly felt as fresh as the first time I'd been wounded. But what was worse than the pain, was knowing that I was ecstatic. I was happy, overjoyed, and wanting, oh so much want. I needed him, wanted him the way a person wants a warm hand to hold, not the hot, frenzied way he wanted me.

When he touched me the way he desired, using me the way he wanted to, I accepted it, reveled in it, because it felt like heaven.

And yet, again, the pain hurt, but knowing that I was inflicting the pain on myself, willingly and gladly accepting his drunken love, hurt me to the core the next morning.

It had just been so long since I felt this way. Alfred, Gilbert, with them it was just sex, would've just been sex. I didn't "love" them that way. Having sex with Arthur after such a long time awakened feelings that had lied dormant since he'd crushed them. I always repeated to myself that I was over him, really over him, way over him, but the feelings were just repressed. And that angered me. Why couldn't I let those feelings go? I wanted to, so badly.

Happiness: For some reason, kissing Arthur even after so long felt so right, so much more amazing than I remembered it.

Shame: Was I giving in to Arthur again? Was I a fool? A fool who gets used and abused by anyone who so much as winks at him?

Anger: Why? Why did I have to fall for this damned bastard every time he so much as entered the same room? I thought I was over him.

Regret: I regreted every second of it, yet if I could do it again, I wouldn't take it back.

Loneliness: I knew. I knew once Arthur was done, I'd be alone.

Pathetic: Despite knowing he'd leave me alone once he was done, I still did it. I still kissed him back, still sanking my heart and soul into his once more, knowing that he was only temporary, that he was getting laid, not making love. I knew it well. But I still did it. Why?

Maybe I wasn't as "over" Arthur Kirkland as I'd hoped.

* * *

Hands fumbling in the dark, grasping and groping in a frenzied need for skin.

Skin, smooth and supple.

Fingers skittered across sensitive, tingling skin, searching, wanting, desiring, loving.

Slipping under clothing and settling into the dark like a criminal, doing unspeakable acts under the covers.

A hand settled on a smooth stomach, asking for permission, begging, pleading wordlessly.

Two hands hesitantly took a hold of the bottom of a white shirt, nervously tugging it up above tossed blond hair and throwing it off into the darkness somewhere.

They settled on wiry, strong shoulders and trembled as they slipped down to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with each one.

Another pair of hands, perhaps impatient with the pace, helped them along, eventually getting too frustrated to even bother with the last two; the shirt was torn, the last two buttons ripped free, and another white shirt went fluttering to the ground like a ghost.

Two pairs of hands, one hesitantly slow and the other frantically brave and daring.

Lips collided together, wildly slipping open to allow tongues to engage in a fiery dance of passion, teasing and languid, lazy and sensuous, warm and moist, sweet and short, teeth nipping.

When they seperated, they settled on skin, pressing warm skin onto a long, pale neck, marking it as their own, even though it never would be again. Leaving dark, distinguishable marks, blackish purple bruises like territory markers to warn others from touching.

Theirs to touch and theirs alone.

The last layers of clothing slip off, leaving smooth, almost perfect human bodies laid bare behind closed doors. Smoothly, slender fingers ask for permission and are swiftly granted it. They slip into tight, tense skin, the most intimate part of the body, stroking teasingly, preparing and waiting patiently. Lips clasp once more in a desperate attempt to distract from the discomfort, to ease away the tension.

So long, so long since it's last been. Fingers press further inside, digging deeper and deeper until they find that one spot, that soft, sensitive part of the most intimate place. They drive themselves in, wedge their length up to the knuckle inside. Hips buck, pushing them deeper, and lips slip open to release a pleading moan.

"You ready?" lips whisper in the darkness.

Nodding, then grasping shoulders reassuringly, trying to relax and make the job easier.

Slowly, carefully, pressing inside its partner.

Slow, slow, slow, easing into it, resisting the urge to ram inside like a jack rabbit on speed, because it's not fucking, it's making love.

Or, so it might seem, hidden in the darkness.

Sighing, gasping, panting, then moaning. The rough, lewd smack of skin against skin as the pace increases, taking and taking and taking as much heat and pleasure as desired, more pleasurable than what can possibly be imagined. Sinking in and out and in and out, wonderful friction sparking a fire within stomaches and coiling deeper and tighter inside. Not much longer now. The coils tighten unbearably, sinking deeper inside, painfully deep.

A hand tenderly seized an eching length, roughly rubbing the tip, then sliding down, thumb stroking slowly, fingers jerking upwards and downwards, then increasing in roughness and speed. The feeling is intensified. Painfully, painfully tight, painfully hot, hips jerk, searching deeper, searching for an inner heat, an inner tightness and intimacy not yet reached. Bucking wildly, fingers digging hard enough to break skin, on hips, on the shoulder blades. And finally, finally the heat explodes, burst into a million white stars that explode behind eyelids as climax is reached. A sharp cry and a scream erupt from two pairs of lips.

Panting, gasping, coming down from a high, hips still lightly stimulating the partner and thrusting gently to ride out the last few tingles. They cease. Pulling out, a pair of lips press against the other, kissing briefly before a hand comes to stroke a warm cheek.

"I love you," is whispered.

A body collapses down onto the thinner, more slender body, all muscles limp, limbs long and relaxed with release. Blond hair tickles a sensitive neck as a pretty face sank down into a warm pillow, utterly exhausted, eyelids fluttering shut.

For a moment, violet eyes flash in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.

Then they too shut, and one last sigh (content? disappointed?) is heard before silence, broken by slow, quiet breathing of two slumbering souls.

* * *

**Texts From the Past (cont.)**

_Text-Subject: Need you_

_To:McDonald'sIsGod_

_I need you to pick me up right now. _

_From:Matthieu103_

* * *

_Text-Subject:Need you_

_To: Matthieu103_

_Wut's wrong? wut do u need? _

_From:McDonald'sIsGod_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:Need you_

_To:McDonald'sIsGod_

_I need you here right now, please. I need to get out of here._

_From:Matthieu103_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:Need you_

_To:Matthieu103_

_ok. cming to get u. _

_wut's wrong?_

_From:McDonald'sIsGod_

* * *

_Text-Subject:RE:RE: Need you_

_To:McDonald'sIsGod_

_Arthur's cheating on me._

_U were rite. but pls, rite now i just want 2 leave. dont make a scene, pls, not now._

_From:Matthieu103_

* * *

**Sex scenes are hard for me, so I tried this one from a different angle. Tell me what you think of it since I'm new to this stuff (well, relatively since I've read plenty, just never tried writing it). Also, can someone please review? I don't know why, but I'm oddly invested in this three-shot and I'd appreciate it if my hard work was at least recognized. Please review. Bye. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia**

**Author's Notes**

_Thoughts/ Flashbacks/ Texting_

Notes/ Letters

"Talking"

**Simple enough, no? **

**Alright, so this is a short fic dedicated to England/Canada which doesn't get enough love.**

**And I'm sorry, KitsuneMagic48, but Arthur must still be alive. You can kill him after this chapter. And maybe after this chapter, you won't want to anymore? **

* * *

**Facebook-Status Update: Elizaveta Hedervary (12:43 P.M.)**

Thanks to everyone who stayed to clean up after the part-ay! And those who didn't...

**Hero Alfred (Superman) Jones, Arthur Kirkland, GilberttheAwesomeBeilschmidt , Heracles Karpusi, Sadiq Adnan, Ludwig Beilschmidt, Veneziano (Feli) Vargas (Veh!), Romano (F.U.) Vargas, and seven others **were tagged.

Asses.

JK. XD

And special thanks to the boys who stayed over. *winks, nudge, nudge* Don't worry, guys, I won't rat you out.

BUT THE VIDEOS ARE MINE!

**Comments: **

-Heracles got with SADIQQQQ last niiite!

-Well I guess there was no point in Veta promising not to tell.

-... I was drunk.

-...and I was horny.

-who topped?

-I did.

-And you 2 are in luuuuv. n i totlly knew sadiq topped! who started it?

-Do u want to die painfully?

-I second Adnan's comment.

-ok, then probably sadiq, since he wuzz "drunk" haha, naughty boys

-hey, who else stayed over? there were lots of people leaving your house this morning. it wasn't just me and sadiq...

-changing the subject... nice try.

-i wont tell!

-VETA, U GOTTA TELL ME! did gil get into mattie's pants?

-ask him, alfred. i wont tell. Butttttttttttt...

* * *

**Elizaveta Hedervary **posted a _video. _(four seconds ago)

**Comments:**

-holllly shit, that is hot!

-damn, gil and mattie were really going at it last night, huh?

-damn, who knew mattie cud b so hot? i cn c his tongue! and r they THRUSTING? damn, y did i miss this party?!

-Mattie's very feisty when drunk, isn't he? Is he available? KolKolKol-sent from my iPhone

-Stay away, he's clearly Gil's, at least, last night he was.

-One-night stands don't count.

-still gil's!

-u dont no that, dumby, they r just making out.

-TWENTY SECONDS OF SEXY! Ahhhh, the passion of love at its finest! Comme elle est belle, comment romantique. It is a shame I wasn't able to attend. Oh well, my lovelies. *kisses* Give my regards to Matthew for becoming a man.

-IVAN, KEEP YOUR HORNY COMMUNIST ASS AWAY FROM MY BEST FRIEND OR I'LL SLOW-ROAST YOU ALIVE. And Francis, ur still as creepy as evr i c. Hey, Veta, did gilbert and mattie stay over?

-I repeat, ask him!

-ok. but gilbert hasn't been answering my texts and mattie hasn't called me yet and it's like the afternoon! cant u just tell me?

-Has he been on FB?

-Oh, hold on, i think he's on now...

* * *

**Facebook-Status Update: GilberttheAwesomeBeilschmidt **(12:47 P.M.)

i wish i cud remember wut happnd last nite. it's all a colorful blur of getting drunk as shit, then throwing that shit up. how on earth did i get 2 my house

**Comments: **

-remember, i drove u home, buddy.

-gilbert, haha, cant hold ur beer?

-no. i jus drank a helluva amount of booz last nite. any1 no wut happnd 2 mattie last nite?

-Yeh, i wuz gonna ask that 2, gil, wut did u do with mattie? u saw veta's vid? pretty hot (coming from a strait guy)

-i wudnt know, i left pretty erly.

-u mean u didn plow him last nite?

-No.

-oh dude, that sux! sorry man

-Yeah...

-But mattie did get laid last night, so...

-WHAT?

-Yeah, I second Gilbert, WHAT? With who? Come on, Hedervary, you've got to tell me! If it wasn't Gilbert...?

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

I woke up with the violent urge to throw up, an arm around my waist, and an aching backside.

Not one of my best mornings, I admit. I hurriedly leaped out of bed (someone grunted, but I was too distracted to notice) and lunged for the toilet, barely making it in time. Barely a half-second happened after my hands grabbed the white porcelain rim when my vomit spilled out of my mouth like a bat erupting from a cave or a wet, soggy blanket out of an automatic baseball pitcher.

Don't like the imagery?

Then don't drink, kids.

Well, don't drink unless you're not willing to deal with the following morning.

And I totally was last night. Or at least, I think I was.

Why did I drink so much?

Ah, the first stages of Mattie's Morning Hangover.

Stage One: Wake up, vomit.

Stage Two: Regret drinking so much.

Stage Three: Wonder why.

And Stage Four, vomit some more.

Stage Five was go and drink as much as possible in order to piss out the poison.

But I didn't get to Stage Five, because when I turned away from the mess I'd made of the toilet, I let out a shriek.

I think that's when it hit me.

Last night, I was crazy drunk...

What did I do? Well, let's look at what I can assume, compare it to what I remember, and what's right in front of me.

So here's what's right in front of me.

I was in Elizaveta Hedervary's house still, obviously. I was naked (don't ask me why I didn't realize until now because I would snarkily answer that you wouldn't have noticed if you had your head bowed to the toilet either). And I was in bed with someone else, because there was someone else in the bed I had woken up in.

Assumption: I'd slept with this someone.

What I remember: I remember a great deal of mixed emotions and flashes of turbulent memories from last night, but nothing came together; still, though, I could say with ninety-five percent confidence that I had had sex with this guy.

And what's right in front of me, ladies and gentlemen, is Arthur "Iggy" Kirkland.

He was mumbling something in his sleep, grabbing my pillow and hugging it close, then rolling over. I stared at him, fighting the urge to shriek again. Shit, shit, shit! I'd slept with Arthur Kirkland?!

But surely, no, even drunk there's no way I could...

But all the evidence was right there.

Shit. You know when you look at a test and see a big, ugly F and you get this sinking feeling in your gut?

That feeling doesn't sink as deep as the feeling you get when you sleep with the ex-boyfriend who cheated on you _years _ago, someone you thought you were over, someone you hadn't even _seen _for years, someone who is currently in a relationship _with the same creep he'd given up your relationship for. _

Yeah, you know that feeling?

Na, only someone as dumb as me would do that, I imagine.

"Mmm-urf?"

I winced. I'd been hoping I could sneak out and find Elizaveta's camera room, destroy the tapes, and leave the house before he knew who he'd slept with. Unfortunately, the guy I wanted to sneak out on, was awake.

* * *

**First Person POV: Arthur**

I woke up with the taste of shit and bile, grotty and manky, in my mouth, making my throat itchy.

I swallowed, grimacing and then gagging on the taste. My throat felt horribly raw and scratchy when I swallowed. Bleh.

My god, vodka and wine do _n__ot_ go well together. Somewhere around three in the morning, I think I bolted out of bed, scrambling over some poor guy I must've screwed and spent maybe an hour or three vomiting up a storm and about 90% of my hangover. The rest, the ten percent would probably be haunting me for the rest of the day. And speaking of percentages, I think one percent is crawling up my throat, begging to come out right now...

"Outta the way," I grunted unpolitely, sitting straight up and scrabbling across the bed, my long limbs flailing and stirring up the bedsheets. I prompty hopped down off the bed, landing a little clumsily, and lurching to the bathroom like Frankenstein's monster. I pushed past last night's bedmate without looking at his face, figuring he could wait a tick.

Up it came like lava from a volcano. Honestly though, it didn't last very long. I hate to admit this, even to myself, but I'm not good at holding my liquor and since I got drunk so easily, I tended to get hungover much earlier than everyone else. Hence, why I spent my lovely three A.M. vomiting. And why, judging by the amount of brown-black smudges staining the toilet, my bedmate had had his hangover at a more reasonable time.

Ugh, enough about vomiting.

No one likes to do it and no one likes thinking about it and certainly not after just vomiting.

So ten minutes, tops, and I was back into the bedroom, thinking about going to sleep again. But then, I realized something important.

Bollocks, I'd woken up in bed with someone else. I'd cheated on my boyfriend. Francis. Oh bloody hell, what the fuck was I supposed to tell Francis?

A running list of expletives began circling inside my brain, cycling back and forth and spinning cartwheels. The words were all I could think.

I'd cheated on my boyfriend.

Again.

Immediately, those words echoed in my head, replacing the swear words.

"Oh bloody hell, bloody hell, fucking hell," I swore out loud, my throat constricting. Matthew. I'd slept with Matthew. Now I remember. That's who. My first boyfriend.

I'd cheated on my boyfriend. The exact thought had passed through my head when I'd first kissed Francis.

What kind of horrible human being uses that phrase twice? And not only twice, but involving the same two people? What kind of monster cheats on one boyfriend with another man, begins dating that man, then cheats on him years later with their former boyfriend? Sounds like some shitty Lifetime sitcom.

I can just see the show now in my head.

Poor, innocent, sweet Matthew, deceived and used before, falling into bed with his former, cheating lover in a twisted sense of karma.

Lascivious, exotic, dangerous Francis, using and abusing but loving nonetheless, willing to get what he wants regardless of the boundaries; the feelings of others be damned.

And me, the dumb jerk who fell for both and would break both hearts because of his idiocy and heartlessness, his greed and lust, his confused feelings and fervored passion for both.

God, why am I romanticizing this bag of shite?

Because it was a bloody joke, is why!

I'd made the same mistake twice. Both times, I'd got caught up in the moment, losing my head for just one second and letting those silly, impetuous thoughts ruin any sense of logic.

"You're such a smart boy," my old dad used to say. "You always make the right decisions because you use your head. I trust you, m'boy, because you think before you act. Out of all of my boys, you're the only one who does. I trust you." Ahh, trust.

Who could trust me?

My dad trusted me to be smart. Since sophomore year, I'd smoked marijuana, nicotine, "crack" the smoke-able cocaine, tobacco, and opium. Fuck, I'd smoked a _lot _of opium. Idiotic thing to do, I know. I know what those kinds of drugs do to you and I could recite every fact, every warning I'd ever been given. I knew then and I know, that it was a mistake. A very stupid, very dangerous mistake. When I was found by a friendly, worried neighbor, writhing on the floor feeling like I was going through hell which was technically true since I was going through the hell known as withdrawal, my old dad was very good about it.

Most parents would be ashamed of their little darling dropping out of school and getting addicted to opium, crack, and nicotine, then disappearing off the face of the earth, immersing himself deeper and deeper into the dark pit of addiction and desperation and the fierce hunger, the desire, the dependence for drugs while his friends were going off to college, off to be self-dependent, responsible, successful workers of the economy.

Not my dad. He was just... sad. I remember that day, at the hospital, very well.

I told them I was alone and to just kill me, just let me die, I was so tired, so tired and I was done, I was worthless and no one loved me and there was just no point, no point anymore.

My dad visited me the very day I was put in the hospital. Held my hand. Gravely told me that no matter what I did, I would always be his son and he would always love me, that he wasn't ashamed of me, he was sorry, so sorry that I hadn't called him before, and oh, he loved me so very much.

It's only because of him that I quit, tried my best to quit, anyway. I wasn't completely clean, far from it, not even now actually. Still going to therapy, a help center, and seeing a pharmaceutical therapist and a hell of amount of doctors. And still on tobacco and nicotine (trying to break the heavier stuff first). But the dark part was over. When I was released from the hospital, my dad was there. He let me live with him, telling me to take as long as it would take. It took two years to get me back on my feet. Two years to write a few books, the first few mostly trash, the last few I put my heart and soul into, but were trashed completely by reviews. But whatever. The last few I wrote for myself, not for the money. And besides, the critics trashed it, but a lot of people bought them, probably just to see why the critics had trashed it so badly.

And then, I met Francis again. Well, no, not exactly.

We didn't meet again.

We fell in love again.

When I saw him again he was as "famous" as me. You see, I actually dumped his ass just before I'd dropped out of school for good, so I'd had no idea that like me, he'd dropped out of school to seek his fame and fortune. Instead of getting a diploma to prove his worth, he started at the bottom of the fashion marketing ladder, a petty job that any high schooler could do. But he was talented. Very talented. He ascended quickly until his pay began to increase and his name became known.

I guess college and credentials and hard work can get you the job, but talent and experience and a steady ascending career can get it too. And hell, it might even take less time.

Earlier, I said I had different instances where I hated and loved Francis, moments where I couldn't stand being near him and moments where I couldn't bear to be away.

Well, it had too long since I'd last seen him.

The first time? We'd had sex. He left the next morning.

I assumed it was a one-night stand.

He came back.

We did it again, only this time, he stayed. Said he missed me. Said that he loved me. Asked me where I'd been, how I was doing, what I'd be doing in the future.

I poured my heart out to him, needing someone to hold, someone to love again. We'd been dating for over a year.

And here I was, sitting in a friend's house, hungover, and a cheater, once more.

* * *

_Kirkland Message Machine: Three Years Ago_

_From: The Stromberger Hospital_

_"D-dad? It-it's Arthur-Arthur Kirkland. I-uh-I'm really, really sick. I-I've gotten-go-gotten in a lotta trouble and I need-I need your help. I need-I need you, pu-please, I need help... I'm at the hospital. I'm-I'm so sorry. I don't-don't think you can fo-forgive me, but-but I need-I just need to know you're-you still-" [call ended]_

_Response Call:_

_"Arthur, I will be there immediately. Please, know that I am not ashamed of you. I did not forget about you and I will never abandon you. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry and I promise that I still love you and I will always be here for you. And-and I'm so sorry... that I wasn't... there for you when you needed me. I'm so sorry. I love you. We'll get through this, I promise." _

* * *

_Emails: Over a Year Ago_

* * *

_To: ArthurKirkland13_

_From:FranBonnefoy95_

_Arthur, I'm sorry, mon amour, but I'm going to be busy tonight. _

* * *

_To:FranBonnefoy95_

_From:ArthurKirkland13_

_Sure you can handle your blue balls tomorrow morning?_

* * *

_To: ArthurKirkland13_

_From: FranBonnefoy95_

_Haha, not that busy..._

* * *

_To:FranBonnefoy95_

_From:ArthurKirkland13 _

_That's what I thought. _

* * *

_To:ArthurKirkland13_

_From:FranBonnefoy95_

_Can't make it. Sorry, love. I feel like I'm surrounded by idiots all the time. Can't get anything done. See you tomorrow?_

* * *

_To:FranBonnefoy95_

_From:ArthurKirkland13_

_Now you know how I feel all the time since I was a kindergartner. Okay, frog, that's fine, I guess. Hey, you're not cheating on me, are you? 'Cause you haven't had sex in like three days and I didn't think you could last that long. And technically since we're dating, choking the gopher counts as cheating on me with your right hand. See you tomorrow then. _

* * *

_To:ArthurKirkland13_

_From:FranBonnefoy95_

_Ohonhon, I believe I was aquainted with my right hand long before we met, so if I am cheating, I'm cheating on it with you, Arthur Kirkland. Seriously though, I am sorry for being so distant lately, but there have been so many newbies flooding in that I have to fight to keep my head above them. That and the fact that all of them are better-qualified than me. *sigh* But you know I'm the best, so don't worry. XOXOXO _

* * *

_To:FranBonnefoy95 _

_From:ArthurKirkland13 _

_Who said I was worried? You keep working, darling. I'm sure you're better than the kids waving their diplomas around here, my darling frog._

* * *

_To:FranBonnefoy95_

_From:ArthurKirkland13_

_I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. Come over. We can watch shitty movies and argue over actors or politics. How about it, cheese-face? _

* * *

_To:FranBonnefoy95_

_From:ArthurKirkland13_

_Tell me, though, when can I see you? I hate not seeing you for such a long time._

* * *

_To:FranBonnefoy95_

_From:ArthurKirkland13_

_It's been almost two fucking months. C'mon, at least answer my emails if you're not going to call or text me._

* * *

_To:ArthurKirkland13_

_From:FranBonnefoy95_

_I'm sorry. I've been busy. We can get together Friday night and spend Saturday together, okay? You're free, right?_

* * *

_To:FranBonnefoy95_

_From:ArthurKirkland13_

_I have a therapy session at two on Saturday and a meeting with my editor at five. But before that, we've got some time. _

_Oh yeah and you're gonna get a lot of hell from me for not responding to me for so long. _

* * *

_"What the hell was zat, Arthur?" _

_"What do you mean?"_

_"You deed not have to scream at him!" _

_"Yes I did! That eejit thought he could scam me, I had to do something since you weren't!"_

_"They banned us! Now we can never go back!" _

_"So what? He's a twat and all of his stupid employers and their stupid suits can go to hell for all I care."_

_"Oh, I see, so what I care about doesn't matter to you?"_

_"I didn't say that!" _

_"But you obviously meant it." _

_"I meant that-that they are assholes, all of them! I-I don't know why you're attacking me for defending us-"_

_"You deed not 'ave to!" _

_"Yes I did, because you never stand up for yourself!"_

_"And you're always looking for a fight!" _

_"Wha-? Oh please! I am not!"_

_"Oui, you always are, always were, even as a child. You're always looking for some excitement, aren't you? Isn't that why we're dating? You like arguing and fighting because you crave that rush, that burning passion. Isn't that why you chose me over your first boyfriend?"_

_"Wha-? How dare you bring that up! That was a long time ago! That-that has nothing to do with-!" _

_"It has everything to do it, Arthur. Everything. For such a long time, I wondered about you. I loved you and missed you, but part of me was always wondering if you changed. Became more... tame. Less out of control. You must realize now that the rush you crave isn't-isn't healthy for you, don't you? The drugs were just another need for the rushing feeling, and when we were younger, so was I, I realize now. I was exciting for you, wasn't I? You were quite a wild child, a real black sheep, weren't you?" _

_"..."_

_Pause. _

_Two minutes later..._

_"Arthur?"_

_"We're done." _

_[Call ended]_

* * *

_Kirkland Message Machine: _

_"Hello? Arthur, I want to talk. Je suis tellement désolé, I didn't mean for it to go so far. I'm sorry for what I said, I'm really sorry. Can we talk?"_

* * *

"Arthur, your boyfriend-"

"Ex-boyfriend, Dad."

"Your ex-boyfriend, Francis called. He misses you. A lot. And I can tell you miss him a lot too. Maybe you should... I don't know, just talk to him? Clear the bad air?"

"We have nothing to discuss, Dad."

"If that were true he'd stop calling."

* * *

Calling... Dial tone...

Ring... Ring... Ring.

"I'm sorry, but I am not available at the moment, 'cause I'm either ignoring you or in the shower or listening to really loud music right now. Call me back. Results may vary."

"Um, hello Arthur, I see you stayed over with Francis, so may I assume you have made up?"

* * *

"Wow, Arthur."

"I know, right?"

"This is... a good piece of literature so far. I like Chapter Three. Very interesting. A strong in-depth look at the main character's feelings. Fascinating."

"Thanks."

"When are you going to be done?"

"It might take a while, but I can get three more chapters done by the end of the month."

"Yes, good, that's not bad timing. Do you mind if I ask how you're managing this pace?"

"Well, I've been there, so it's easy to relate to my characters..."

"You've been there, hm?"

"Yeah. I guess you could say all my inspiration comes from some frustration or stress in my life."

"Hmm. Yes. Well... good work."

* * *

"Yo, Arthur."

"Hello Alfred."

"Whatcha doing?"

"Is this important?"

"Yeah, man, it's totally important."

"Remember that I have an adult job now. I don't have time to deal with kids who are still in school."

"Dude, fuck you man, I'm becoming a professional rather than a dropout. Just because you thought you were too cool for school, don't think you're better than the rest of us. Besides, your books suck ass."

"I don't believe I asked for your opinions of my books seeing as you barely can read."

"Whatever, douche-face. Listen, I need to know if you're gonna stir shit up now that you're back."

"What do you mean?"

"Well... you were gone for a really long time... and now you're back."

"So?"

"So you... well, just... I guess I just don't want you messing around with... a certain... someone's feelings. I mean... ugggh, what I mean is... nevermind."

"Okay. I'm going to hang up on you now because I am tired of your babbling. Bye now."

"Wait!"

"What is it now?"

"I just want to know if you're still dating the frog."

"I am, why? You interested? You can have him."

"I'm not gay and if I were going to turn gay, it wouldn't be for that piece of dirty cheesy-shit."

"..."

"You're not going to deny it?"

"He is. A bag of shite, that is."

"I don't know what shite is. Is it british slang for twat or cunt? Just say twat or cunt, geez, you don't have to make everything sound all fancy like that."

"Shut it! And bugger off, you're wasting my time!"

"You mean your valuable time writing a book that's going to get trashed by everyone and is for sadists who read it just to see just how bad it is?"

"Twat."

* * *

**First Person POV: Arthur**

Trust. I couldn't be trusted. Not for anything, not by anyone.

Francis wasn't the best boyfriend, sure, but that was no excuse to cheat, no excuse at all. I betrayed my father's trust. I betrayed Matthew's trust for Francis. And now I'd betrayed Francis's trust for Matthew.

I'm even more fucked up than anyone else thinks.

My father thought I was smart and logical. But I wasn't. I never was. Francis was right. I always crave that rush, that high, that mesh of high-strung, impulsive feelings. I've always been a "black sheep," a "thrill-seeker." I took what I wanted when I wanted it, other people be damned. What kind of human being was I?

A monster.

A drunkard, an addict, a dropout, a cheater, a traitor, a monster.

What? What had I ever accomplished in my life? A few books written for the hunger for money and fame? And a few shitty books written in a feeble attempt to put my opinions out there for the public, books that critics had claimed were "weak plots hiding the obvious, preachy, opinionated, personal opinion of the pretentious author?" What kind of accomplishments were these? They certainly didn't justify my pathetic, miserable life.

Ha, just think of that.

Barely an adult, yet already feeling I'd been through enough, that my life was too pathetic and miserable to go on with it. What a trip.

* * *

**Third Person POV**

"Thanks for helping out, Mattie," Elizaveta said, leaning on a broom.

"Sure thing," he said quietly, resting for a moment to stare about the room. "It's not so bad, though. Remember Gilbert's party? Back in senior year?"

"Oh god, that was a riot!" Elizaveta exclaimed. "I loved it. I got sooo much footage of that night. Pretty wild."

"Oh yeah, speaking of which," Matthew gave her a hard look. "You didn't-?"

"I did have cameras in a few of his rooms," she admitted. "And I did get a video of you two..."

Matthew gave her his best puppy-dog look and she cursed inwardly, hating that look.

"Okay, okay! I'll... well, I'll watch it, and then I'll delete it," she said, pouting. She hated deleting sex videos. They deprived her of sexy yaoi goodness that she could look back on. But if her friend wanted it, then she would do it.

Matthew wasn't intimidating or forceful, but his puppy-dog eyes were killer. Big and friendly violet and innocently bright. If Roderich weren't her soulmate and if Matthew weren't gay, he would've made a good boyfriend and an _adorable_ husband. And thinking of that...

"So... what's with you and Arthur, then?"

Matthew froze. His back twinged with a sudden soreness that reminded him of what he'd been doing the night before. And all the shame came flooding back.

She noticed.

"Oh. Um, sorry. You don't have to tell me or anything," she offered.

"No, no, I kind of want to talk about it to someone," he said, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "I don't... know what to think now. If we're boyfriends or just friends who got drunk or not even that, just filthy fornicators."

"Not fornicators," Elizaveta said at once. "I mean... Arthur cheated on you first."

Matthew let out a dry laugh.

"That doesn't make it right. And it doesn't work like a game of catch."

"I know, but it's kind of like... karma, I guess? Francis stole Arthur from you, and now you got to steal him from Francis," she said, her voice a tiny bit gleeful. Noting Matthew's frown, she rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a boy scout. I remember how you were after he cheated on you. Don't you remember?"

The brunette sighed.

"Yeah, thanks for bringing it up."

"Sorry man, but it's for your own good. Remember how sad you were? How heartbroken? You haven't had a boyfriend since," Elizaveta concluded. "It's really sad and I can't help but think it was Arthur's fault."

"It wasn't! It was my fault, okay? I'll never be what Francis is! I'm not outgoing or social or sexy or bold enough to say what I want. The reason I never had another boyfriend was because I just... never met the right guy," Matthew finished weakly.

"Riiiight, and having your heart broken had nothing to do with shyness or insecurity with relationships. You never had a long relationship after that, did you?" Elizaveta said.

"Well, no-"

"Right. You never did. I know you're all shy and all, but it's Arthur's fault you're insecure about relationships," Elizaveta asserted.

"Please stop making assumptions," Matthew said, somewhat snippily. "I'm not insecure about anything! I just haven't met the right person! I've always been shy, like you said, and the only reason I dated Arthur in the first place was because he was a childhood friend and he was... comfortable."

"And you loved him," Elizaveta added.

"And I loved him," Matthew sighed. "But not anymore. I didn't 'steal' him from Francis. It was just a one-night stand and I regret it so much. I wish I hadn't done it. I hope he doesn't get in too much trouble with Francis..."

"Are you kidding me?" Elizaveta exclaimed. "What is with you? You're like the ex no one believes in. You know, nice, non-vindictive, genuinely wishing to continue being friends with your ex and not plotting to destroy his career or criminal record..."

"Yeah, 'cause that's what normal ex's do, right?" Matthew smiled, grabbing his cup of tea and taking a gulp. Then wincing at its heat.

"Yes!" she said, nodding furiously.

"Elizaveta... I don't hate him for cheating on me. I accepted it. He was... never mine to begin with," Matthew admitted. "He was always... obsessed with Francis, the way he never was with me. I don't think... I don't think that even now he cares for me. I think that last night was just random and he was lonely or something and he was just venting out feelings of guilt built up from the years where he never got to apologize. It was just... guilt-sex, I guess you could say."

"Ahh, I can understand that," she said.

"Yeah... Anyway, it's been years. I'm over it. He and Francis belong together," Matthew said. "And I owe them no ill will."

He raised his cup in a toast and she clinked it with her soda bottle.

"To no ill-will towards asshole ex's," she crowed. He nodded and took a drink, smiling that gentle smile of his.

She began to re-tie her hair into a ponytail, yanking the messy strands back into the fold.

They went back to silent work a while. The mess was tame enough to finish up in under two hours, so by lunch time, Elizaveta had set up her computer in the kitchen and Matthew was sitting across from her, idly poking at a sandwich she'd made for him.

"What are you doing?" he asked out of boredom.

"Posting stuff on Facebook," she said.

"Ahh, of course you are. It's not about me, is it?"

"Well... I got a sexy video of you and Gilbert getting it on," she said, smirking.

"Veta!"

"I'm not taking it down!"

Matthew started to take out his phone to see what it was for himself, but then he stopped.

No. No, he did not want to deal with Alfred, who would see that he was on Facebook.

"You-you didn't-?"

"No, I didn't tell anyone you slept with Artie," she said patiently. "You gonna do that?"

"Uh, no. I'm going to do my best to pretend it never happened," Matthew said. "And I'm going to-"

"Um... good morning?"

The both of them looked up.

"Um... tired, were you?" Elizaveta asked dryly.

Arthur Kirkland nodded, wincing a little. He didn't look at Matthew, his eyes firmly on Elizaveta. But when she looked up and directly at him, all he saw was a steely glint in her glare and he hastily redirected his glance to the kitchen's toaster.

"Is-is everyone gone?"

"Except for the two of you, yeah," Elizaveta confirmed.

"Um-um, you're um- not going to-ah-?"

"Nope, not a word," she promised. "You get to tell Francis yourself."

Arthur winced. "I-um-"

"Don't try to explain yourself to _me," _she said. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

Matthew stood up abruptly.

Arthur eyed him anxiously.

"Um... bye, Veta, it was... fun?" the brunette ventured.

"Well, it was fun like booze; meaning, it's awesome while you're on it but when you're off it, man does life seem to suck," she said, flashing her mischevious grin. She held her hand up and he gave her a high five and, still avoiding Arthur's gaze, Matthew exited the room.

And Arthur found his eyes drifting down, following his footsteps.

And he was very, very confused to find himself feeling very, very attracted.

* * *

**First Person POV: Arthur**

This is so wrong.

This is so _blood-_fucking wrong.

I puked out the poison. I planned on drinking a load of tea when I got home. And I was in my usual state of mind, as Arthur Kirkland, without intoxication and without anything to cloud my mind (except some tobacco I'd smoked earlier, but that was just to call me down and steel my nerves before finally daring to go downstairs).

But... I still felt a stirring of something I couldn't-wouldn't name in my chest as Matthew walked away. I wasn't drunk or horny. I wasn't turned out by his sexiness, though I was definitely feeling a little something down there.

Okay. I'll admit it (to myself at least).

So I was smitten over my long-lost crush.

Well, bollocks, that's just bloody great.

"Wait!"

Matthew paused. His foot began to shake hesitantly, like it wasn't sure if it wanted to keep going and take him away from him or stay put. Then it stopped and Matthew turned. "Yes?"

I wish he hadn't turned to look at me.

I was trying to keep my head level and looking someone directly into their amazing violet eyes while they had the nerve to look heart-breakingly vulnerable was not helping in that department. God, something the bloody hell is wrong with me. Despite the puking-up-the-lining-of-my-stomach part, I wish I was drunk and could blame my inebriation for the warmth settling inside my stomach. For the obvious attraction I could still feel.

"I-um, can we-um, get a cup of coffee together... or something?" I asked clumsily. But unlike last night, I felt oddly comfortable with letting myself stumble. Let him see me vulnerable. For some reason, now I didn't mind.

He stared at me, plump lips grimacing.

"You're dating someone," he said finally. "And _I'm_ not going to get between you two."

His voice sounded incredibly bitter, tinted with resentment.

Ouch. He sounded like he desperately wanted to add _again. _But being such a nice soul, he wouldn't of course. Then again, there was enough poison in his words to make me question just how nice he was after the many, many years since we'd last been close.

"I-no, not like that, I swear! I just want to... to talk. About... everything. Please, I just need to... sort myself out," I said. "Please?"

There. Now I did my best to look... vulnerable? Pitiful? I don't know exactly how my face comes off when I try to wheedle someone into doing something. Needy? Desperate? Did Matthew still fall for the puppy-dog look?

"No. I think it'd be best if we didn't... get involved in any way. Ever again," he said firmly, without hesitation.

Okay, he obviously had gotten over his pushover routine. And his expression didn't even change when he said it! My desperate face didn't even faze him!

"Please? I need to sort out... things. I promise, this is not a date or anything. This is just-just a friendly... meet up. Of friends," I tried enunciating. Just friends. Just friends who had screwed once at a party.

He glared at me, but this time I didn't get too surprised. A lot had changed in my ex-boyfriend, but one thing that definitely had not was his ability to look mean.

"Fine," he said. "Not a date. Just as friends. And we are going to talk things over and then, whatever this is," he made a weird gesture with both hands, like he was a DJ spinning records, "is over."

"Okay," I agreed. "Just as friends."

"Yeah, whatever. And you're paying," he added. Then he huffed and stormed out, looking for all the world like a pouting, angry puppy.

I couldn't help but smile, relieved not to be rejected.

And suddenly, I felt like I was a teenager again and I'd just asked out my first crush.

Ironically, I might add.

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

What the hell is wrong with me?

* * *

**Okay. I lied. **

**This is going to be more than a three-shot. So sue me. **

**On second thought... I don't own Hetalia. **

**So anyway, this still isn't going to be very long, especially not compared to the amount of chapters I normally have per story. Maybe five? Maybe ten? Some multiple of five.**

**Later. Drop a review, please, cause as you can see, I spent a lot of time on this. **

**I mean come on, I even focused on technical details like on Facebook and cell phone texting. And everyone's text address? All of them refer to their respective countries in some way. Matthieu 103? Canada has ten provinces and three territories. HondaKiku6852? Japan has 6,852 islands. I even typed those names and numbers so many times I'll never forget the numbers! They are imprinted in my mind, I swear. **

**Okay, little author's rage, don't mind me. **

**Review if you want. Thanks for reading. **

**Later.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia**

**Author's Notes**

_Thoughts/ Flashbacks/ Texting_

Notes/ Letters

"Talking"

**Simple enough, no? **

**Alright, so this is a short fic dedicated to England/Canada which doesn't get enough love.**

* * *

**Facebook-Status Update: Elizaveta Hedervary**

******Hero Alfred (Superman) Jones posted a comment. **

Yooooo! If i dont hear from mattie, i m cmng ovr there rite away! like srsly, i'll cum ovr and throw a fit liek back in grade school!

**Comments: **

-Geez, Al, don't throw a fit like in grade school. God, you even more annoying back then.

-i'm serious! i havent heard from him! i'm getting worried!

-relax, he's a legal adult, he doesn't need you to as a babysitter.

-i'm his best buddy! it's only cuz i care!

-ok fine, fine, i get it. bro code. i wish you guys would date... but u just HAAAD to be strait.

-yeah, yeah, so tell me, is mattie still there?

-no. He left.

-AAAARRGGGHHHH, he's not at his apartment! and he's not answering my ccccallls! damn, where r u, mattie?

* * *

**Answering Machine of Matthew Williams: Messages (13)**

"_Mattie! Awesome party, right?" _

_"Duuuuude, I got laid and I totally need to talk to you about it! I know you're all gay and stuff, but I got a picture and I think even you would be impressed..."_

_"Okay, if you're ignoring me, I get it! Sorry for not talking to you more! I was just really busy at the party..."_

_"Matthew, did you get laid?! That's totally awesome! You gotta call me and give me the details. It was Gilbert, right? Please tell me it was Gilbert. And call me! I wanna hear!"_

_"Are you sleeping in? Is that it? Did he really bang you that hard? Damn, and you never sleep in that late!"_

_"Okay, dude, have you been ignoring me? Is it because you were busy or are you sulking or are you ashamed or something? Come on, sorry if I'm being insensitive or something. Sorry for being... um, annoying? I'm just really, uh, excited to hear about you finally-"_

_"Oh my god, is that it? Did Gilbert do something to piss you off? Did he hurt you? If he hurt you, you just tell me and I'll beat his shit out!"_

_"Mattie, are you okay? I'm kind of worried now. Can you call me just so I know you're okay? We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to... or if, uh, you know, it's too painful to talk about..."  
_

_"Gilbert just told me through Facebook that you two didn't sleep together. Is that it? Dude, he totally wanted to sleep with you last night. Did you get shy? Or nervous or something? Did he make you uncomfortable last night? He's into you, man. Did he say something?" _

_"Dude! This is getting really stupid! Why are you ignoring me, man?!"_

_"Matthew? I didn't mean you were stupid or anything. I just meant that-well, dude you're seriously worrying me now and I don't think I've been out of contact with you for this long since we were little kids..."_

_"Okay, technically not true, but you know, we're always in touch! Why are you shunning me now? I'm coming over!"_

_"Matthew! Okay, now I'm worried. I need you to return my calls now! Come on, before I call the police!"_

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

I left my cell phone off deliberately, knowing who would be calling and just how frequently.

Alfred had been my friend since... forever. He was a little obsessed with me, to be honest, and not in the creepy way, you know, the perverted way.

His obsession was a more pure one. You see, ever since we were kids, he'd been the one who defended me and stood up for me whenever I was too shy to do it myself (and sometimes even when I was!). He was the nicest, strongest, most loyal friend you could have and I guess he always had a really soft spot for me. I guess he was drawn to vulnerability, you know, being the hero and all. He'd always been glued to my side, convinced I was too weak to take care of myself and therefore need his heroic strength at all times.

He was still under the impression that I needed him.

As a friend, yes, I loved him. I did need him to be there. He was one of my few friends, a friend I knew I could rely on.

But that didn't mean I _relied_ on him. I didn't cling to him anymore and I didn't break down into a sobbing, suicidal ball whenever he wasn't around anymore. I love the guy, really, I do, but sometimes his obsessive tendencies, like calling me a dozen times and constantly checking on me and always pestering other people on my whereabouts, what I was doing, and specifically what they had done to me, how they'd hurt poor Mattie's feeling again... welll, his obsessive tendencies could a little bit annoying.

Times had changed. And I had changed with them.

Yeah, okay, I'll admit it, my voice is still quiet. I still find it difficult to say what I'm thinking. Inside my head, I think dry, acerbic sarcasm and spout witty wordplay, but when I open my mouth, the words still don't come out the way I want them to. But inside my heart, I know I'm stronger. I know I'm not a pushover anymore, or at least, not as much of one. I know what the word no means and I know how to use it. I know when to use it and I can definitely assert the power of the word "no" whenever I want to. Well... when I absolutely need to, anyway.

But when even though I was more sure of myself, even though I knew that "no" was in my dictionary and key arsenal of fighting tactics, even though I was absolutely sure that in no way was Matthew Williams _still _sensitive, still hurt by that betrayal so many years ago, still as Gilbert would term it, _butthurt _about being cheated on by a high school crush. No way.

No way was Matthew Williams still in love, no, still even_ interested _in someone like Arthur Kirkland, famous author, and boyfriend of an even more famous, on-his-way-to-millionaire status artist who was, did I mention, handsome and sexy and daring and successful and a genius? No way... right?

Okay, fine, what can I say? No, I was not attracted to him. Well, not because of the reasons listed above. Because I do not care about him being a famous author or the boyfriend of an even more famous, on-his-way-to-millionaire status, handsome, sexy, daring, and successful, genius-artist.

What I did care about... wait, why am I attra-and I'm not saying I'm attracted to him! I just... am just wondering why he... intrigues me so much. If it's not jealousy of either one, then what is it? As many people have told me, during freshmen year and most of sophomore year (mostly it was my friends and Arthur's enemies), he was bitter. Not particularly handsome. A kind of sour, dry humor. A cynical nihilist. A pessimistic, stubborn bastard who could never see the bright side of things and was always complaining, regardless of how much luck his life truly dealt. A complete bastar.

Hell, he even cheated on his boyfriend! Twice! Granted, not the same boyfriend, but still, bad enough! And that's not even mentioning the fact that it was same guy he-! Okay, we've been over this.

Sorry. Where was I?

Oh yeah, I'm not pushover, Arthur Kirkland is indisputably an ass... and when I look him straight in the eyes and he looks right back, I felt like none of it mattered.

My knees felt weak, my legs felt like lead, my head felt empty, my mouth felt dry, my heart beat a little bit faster, and my lips spoke without my mind's consent.

And I'd be damned if I would admit the reason why.

* * *

**Second Person POV: Arthur Kirkland**

You stare at me with conflicted eyes, I see. Violet eyes, the likes of which I'd never seen on another human being (well, besides that creepy guy, whatsisface, the guy with the scarf? But he doesn't count, he's just some creepy stalker guy that I spent high school avoiding).

I don't remember this part of you. I don't remember you ever having so much fire in those eyes. They sparkle with a kind of zany energy I'd never seen in them. They're exciting, more mischievous, more desirable than I ever remembered.

You seem so confident now, staring at me straight in the eyes, taking a sip of your water without glancing away. What are you looking at? Are you evaluating me? Trying to see what game I'm playing?

Well I'm not playing anything. I'm curious. Curious about this new You, this new version of a friend I once knew.

Where did this attraction come from?

That's the root question of my curiosity. Where? Less important are when and how. When did you get so interesting? And how, how after all these years and after both of us grew up a little, how am I still attracted to you?

"This probably wasn't a good idea," you say bluntly, very suddenly. Was my Mattie ever so upfront?

"I know," I say. "But I'm... terribly confused."

"Oh, is that right?" you say, a terribly sly, sarcastic grin on your mouth. "Well here's the summary: we got drunk, fucked, and then you dragged me here. End of story. And you can write this next one: after this, I leave, you got your boyfriend and fess up, and everyone's dandy."

Was my Mattie ever so brutal? Did I not notice? Was it there all along? Or maybe you simply grew up?

"I'm sorry if this seems... confusing. I'm confused too," I clarify. "I'm very confused. I don't... get why I'm attracted to you." There it was, the big confession. I expected you to look confused as well. I expected that fiery little glint of aggression to die down. I expected you to sit back and look stunned or look bashfully flattered but a little bit annoyed too. I expected you to do that cute thing with your hands where you grab your wrist and subconsciously rub it, like you weren't sure if it had disappeared and you needed to reassure yourself.

But today is certainly a day of surprises. And you seem to be full of them.

"So I'm older," you say. "And maybe you're just surprised that I don't look the same. So what? Why would you risk a relationship for that? We fu-we f-screwed, okay? That's all! Nothing more, nothing less. I'm sorry if I... I don't know, came on to you last night or something. But I didn't mean to come between you and Francis last night and I don't intend to keep doing it! Your his and I understand completely! I just don't-don't get why you-you keep pressing on like this-"

"Because I felt something last night," I say eagerly. "Because I feel something, _right _now."

"Don't tell me you have a boner," you quip. And coming from you, such a bold line makes me laugh. And for the first time in a while, it feels good. Simple. Easy. Strangely uplifting.

"No, not like that."

I mean, you're crazy sexy and definitely appeal to multiple fetishes of mine, but that's not it! I wouldn't cheat on my boyfriend just because of something like that! I've met plenty of sexy guys I've wanted to bone and I've resisted (even when drunk!), remembering and chanting in my head, 'I love Francis, he's my boyfriend, I love him, he is mine, and I am his.

"No, this is different. Wanna know how I know?"

You look at me, waiting for me to get on with it. I almost laugh at that expression you're making. So cute! You almost look like a cuter version of me! A much, much cuter version of me. Well, no, you just look like you with a typical Arthur Kirkland expression that would look ugly on anyone but you.

"Get on with it."

Oh, you're so assertive now. I think I like it. It's kind of charming to see the meek become sarcastic, witty, and scathingly harsh. But I can see through you, Mattie. I can see you're still my Mattie, somewhere in that mask of hurt.

I can see you.

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

Oh crap, he's reaching for my hand. Should I pull away?

But too late, he has my hand now and his fingers are warm against my palm. He rubs it gently and I shiver involuntarily. Damn him!

"Last night was great. I'm sorry I cheated on Francis and involved you because I know something like this would grate on your conscience. I am sorry about that," he said colloquially, airily, as if he didn't care for the implications of his words.

My anger surged, but none of it showed on my face.

"I'm also sorry that you're so upset right now. And I'm really sorry for... cheating on you."

He said the one thing he wasn't supposed to say.

I snatched my hand away from him very suddenly, hurt rising inside of me like a snake, cleaving the anger in two.

"You can't say that," I hissed. "You are not _allowed_ to say that."

"Matthew, what-?"

"You're a bastard," I said. "And I can't believe you! What we had is over! It is completely over. Finished! And I was perfectly okay with it. I got over it. It should be end of story, but you-you-"

I wasn't sure what I wanted to say, so I looked down angrily, glaring at the table cloth as if it were Arthur Kirkland and done me a personal wrong.

What did I want to say? There was so much, but I wasn't sure where to start.

"Ma-Mattie, I-"

"No!" I said sharply. "No! Listen, Kirkland, when we... broke up, there's a reason I didn't call you or contact you. I didn't want to see you or hear from you because I was _hurt. _I didn't want apologies then and I don't want them now and especially not now. What we just did was... despicable. I-Even if you do... care about me in some way, any way, you're not allowed to apologize to me! You're not allowed to feel anything for me, not while you're with someone else! Especially when it's-it's been such a long time-"

"Matthew, I love Francis, but for a long time, we've been growing apart," he said painstakingly. "He's been very distant with me and I don't-I'm not sure if I love him anymore. I want him to be happy and I don't think I make him happy anymore. He's always busy and he's always working. I think he's dedicated to his work and I'm not going to stand in his way or hold him back. I was thinking about breaking it off with him since-since... for a long while, now."

I stared at him.

"Really?" Was he serious? These were reasons, the excuses he was using?

"Really," he said earnestly.

"Is that what you said to Francis when you cheated on _me_? Is that what you said to yourself? Is that how you justified it? Growing apart? Dedicated to work? These aren't things you cheat on someone for! You break up with him _before _sleeping with someone else. Or maybe you still haven't learned."

* * *

**First Person POV: Arthur**

Angrily, he slammed his hand on the table, eliciting a few curious (read:surprised) glances his way. But he wasn't looking at them, he was looking at me.

And I will tell you honestly, his words hurt. Hurt to the core.

And it was because of just how true they were.

I was a horrible, horrible bastard. None of my excuses were good ones (there aren't many good excuses for cheating) and every point he had hit painfully deep.

But Francis, oh, it was so hard to defend him anymore! It was so hard to think about him when I was staring at Matthew. It was hard (well, harder) to feel bad for him when I remembered those lonely nights waiting for him, only for him to call and tell me not to wait up, that he was fine, and he would probably wouldn't be back for a while.

God, I wanted to be pitied so bad. I wanted Francis to feel bad for me and come home and spend time with me the way we used to. When we were in high school, we were almost inseperable. I know things are different now that we're adults, but is it so bad to long for it? I wanted Matthew to pity me, to hate Francis with me, to bemoan our loneliness together, or at least tell me that I wasn't completely in the wrong. I wanted someone to tell me, hey, Arthur, you didn't fuck up royally again. Just once.

But no one pitied me. And I had fucked up. Fucked up pretty badly this time. Again.

I wouldn't pity me.

"I need to go," Matthew said suddenly, all the anger in his voice seeming to deflate. "Alfred probably wants to hear back from me."

"Wait, don't go!" I cried. As pathetic as that sounds. "Matthew, I really screwed up, I know. But what if I told you I was going to break up with Francis? What then?"

"What then?" he repeated, staring down at me with a quizzical look, his eyebrows twitching slightly with some unnamed emotion.

I nodded earnestly.

"Nothing, Arthur," he said slowly. "I don't think I could trust you ever again. And I'm starting to think that know, no one could."

And that hammered the nail in deep. With his last, withering words, his eyes cold, he stood up and left me alone.

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

You don't know how hard it was for me to walk away. And I don't think you know how hard it was to turn my back on someone who had once held my heart and crushed it or how hard it was hear him say sorry and not take him back with open arms.

And you'll (probably) never know how hard it was not to look back at him, to see if he started crying or was just staring at me in shock.

No, you won't know, but you can imagine it.

As I'm sure you can imagine me crying my eyes out the moment I was out of sight.

* * *

_Four Years Ago..._

"Hey! Hey Mattie!"

I glanced around, alarmed for a moment. But it was just Alfred with his bullhorn voice. Silly me.

"Hi," I whispered. "Um, how are you-?"

"Doing fine!" he shouted. "Listen, I was wondering if you were going to Gilbert's par-tay!"

"No," I shook my head. "Too loud."

"Aw, dude, but you like loud, right?" he crowed, well, loudly. I smiled.

"Eh-heh, I guess."

"Good! You going to come, then?" he said. "I know Gilbert really wants to see you-!"

"Oh," instantly I felt myself deflate. Oh drat it all, Gilbert wanted to have one of his "special" talks with me. Only gosh knows what he would say this time... "Alfred, can you please tell him that I am dating Arthur and none of the gossip he spreads about Arthur and Francis is going to stop me. Please also tell him I care about him as a friend and not a boyfriend and I'm sorry, but that's the way it's going to be. Also tell him I'm not going."

"What? Why not? Listen, if he bothers you, just tell him to go away," Alfred said. "Or I'll tell him for you."

"I don't want to go."

"Why? Just because he's going to be there?" Alfred persisted.

"No, parties just aren't... my scene."

"Okay, okay, I've got it! I won't tell anyone you're going. How's that? No one will bother you then," he suggested.

"Alfred, I told you-" I started to say exasperatedly, but he bull-dozed right over me, as per usual.

"Okay, that's the plan then! Cool! See you at the party!" and with that, he scurried off before I could protest. As per usual.

* * *

******Facebook-Status Update:** Hero Alfred (Superman) Jones

Yo, every1! m going 2 gil's party! gonna be fun!

also, matt is definitely not coming.

**Comments: **

-uh, okay, that's kind of random

-y not?

-he's sooooo shy, man!

-he says it's not his scene. btw, u r cmng, rite?

-sure.

-awsum, wanna get laid? u no, with me?

-DUDE! u got srs balls!

-uh, thanks?

-idk, alfred, cud u handle me? ;)

-my god, this party cant cum quick enuff.

-Uh, you're disgusting, Alfred. I'm getting off your page.

-Y R u here in the 1st place, artie? geez, don't like me, don't read my status updates! btw, he's your bf, and u r going, dont u want him to come?

-He told me he doesn't want to and I respect his decision.

* * *

_Text-Subject: Party_

_To:Matthieu103_

_It's a shame you're not coming. Here I am, going alone..._

___From: ArthrKLand_

* * *

___Text-Subject:Party_

___To:ArthrKland_

___Do you really want me to come? _

___From:Matthieu103_

* * *

___Text-Subject:RE:Party_

___To: Matthieu103_

___Of course I fdpo,io mk_

___From: ArthrKland_

* * *

"Damnit, frog, quit it," Arthur hissed. He fumbled for his phone. And cursed as he saw the message was sent. "You blithering fool."

"Hmm," Francis mumbled, smiling into Arthur's collarbone, his even white teeth nipping him again. Arthur flinched.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed. "Stop it! You know how messed up this is?"

"What, texting your boyfriend while you theenk of me?" Francis purred lasciviously. "Because I know you theenk of me when you're having sex wiz hi-"

"Pervert!" Arthur growled. "I do not! We don't have sex!"

Francis laughed, a silvery, carefree laugh and flung his arm around Arthur's shoulders. Arthur shook him off and the other blond simply laughed and took his arm back. "Well that explains why you prefer me-"

"I don't prefer you, wanker!"

"Oho?" Francis sounded slightly miffed now. "So you don't prefer me? Which is why I am in the car with you and going to a party with you eenstead of heem?"

"I'm only taking you because Matthew doesn't want to go," Arthur gritted his teeth.

"And you only kiss me and love me because he won't?" Francis asked slyly. Laughing again as the Brit lightly slapped his shoulder.

"Shut it!"

They lapsed into silence.

"So how are zings between you two?" Francis asked. "Not fighteeng, true?"

"No."

"Ah, of course not! He never does fight much, not for heemself or for anyone else," the blond murmured. "Tell me, do you zink he'd even react badly if he caught us in ze act or do you zink he would simply close the door and back away like the coward-"

"Shut it, you damnable French cheese-eating twat!" Arthur spat. "He's a good kid!"

"I did not say he was not," Francis huffed. "Seemply a coward. Do you zink, if you pres-shured heem enough, he'd go for a threesome-?"

Arthur stomped on the brakes. Francis had to throw his hands up to avoid smacking his face on the dashboard. Before he could comment on Arthur's driving, he found two hands curled into fists into his white collar.

"Don't-you-_dare," _Arthur spat the last word like venom, "call him a coward! Understand?"

Francis glared at him, his bright blue eyes as vicious as Arthur's green eyes.

"You're going to have to choose eventually," he spat back. "Who's it going to be? Me or him? You can't have both. If you want me, then goddamnit, take me! Don't force me to hide because _you're_ too much of a coward to tell him about us!"

* * *

**Arthur Kirkland has posted on his blog. **

It was a bit of a relief. I'd been hiding the truth from my boyfriend for too long. It was starting to tear me apart, honestly. He was so nice and kind and a really, really good guy. I know he'll find someone better than me. If he's reading this (and I don't think he is, because he quit all communication with me), then Mattie, I have to sort out my feelings and I'm so, so sorry I used you to do it. I'm so sorry that while I was trying to figure out how I felt and who I was I was hurting you. I'm sorry you had to find out like that. I was going to tell you, but... things got out of control that night. I guess that's what I'm most sorry about.

I'm sorry we had to end things like that.

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

Yes, before you ask, I did read his blog. From the moment he got one, I would read his blog, loving his words and his writing and knowing he would be a great writer someday. I would read every entry and fall deeper in love with him one by one. All before he even spoke to me.

When he wrote that he was sorry, all those sorrys and apologies, so sorry, incredibly sorry, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

Sorry that I could still love him, even though I knew he was a bastard. Sorry that I still read what he wrote (yes, that included all of his critically-trashed books, but at the time, he was just a blogger). Sorry that I still loved him, even when he didn't love me back. Sorry that his feelings weren't as strong as mine.

Sorry that he was sorry.

I guess back then, I was just soppy like that. But now, I suppose I got the last laugh, didn't I? I guess absence really does make the heart grow fonder. Here Arthur was, wanting me, and I was not falling for it. Not again. I wouldn't fall into his trap again!

And I do admit, it gives me a sadistic pleasure to be the one who gets to crush the other's feelings. Perhaps he's feeling the rejection I felt. Perhaps he's feeling the hurt and confusion I did. And maybe Francis will know how he made me feel all those years ago.

Or maybe they won't. Whatever. I'm over it. I might still have feelings for Arthur, but I sure don't have to show that I do. Because I already made that mistake once, you see, and unlike Arthur, I learn from my mistakes.

* * *

**Whew.**

**Matthew's kind of a jerk in this chapter, but you know, I never saw Canada as a softie, just a really, really nice, polite Canadian guy. Not as long as my usual length, but I'm about satisfied with this one. If it seems kind of disjointed, that's because half of it was done in one in the morning and when I began working on it again, it was like the afternoon of the next day... and things might come off as... disjointed.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia**

**Author's Notes**

_Thoughts/ Flashbacks/ Texting_

Notes/ Letters

"Talking"

**Simple enough, no? **

**Alright, so this is a short fic dedicated to England/Canada which doesn't get enough love.**

* * *

_Texts-Subject:(none)_

_To:Frenchsexypants_

_I need to talk to you._

_From:BritSuprrWit_

* * *

_Texts-Subject:(none)_

_To:BritSupprWit_

_Je suis désolé, mon amour, but nt 2day. 2 much 2 do, but will c u 2nite._

_From:Frenchsexypants_

* * *

_Texts-Subject:RE:(none)_

_To:Frenchsexypants_

_This is important. Extremely important. I need to talk to you. Meet me at the coffee shop. You know the one._

_From:BritSuprrWit_

* * *

_Texts-Subject:RE:(none)_

_To:BritSuprrWit_

_i cant artie, m 2 busy 2nite. srry._

_From:Frenchsexypants_

* * *

_Texts-Subject:RE:RE:(none)_

_To:Frenchsexypants_

_We're through if you don't come. _

_Yeah. It's that serious. I have important things to tell you. _

_I need to discuss something with you._

_From:BritSuprrWit_

* * *

_Texts-Subject:RE:RE:(none)_

_To:BritSuprrWit_

_Is something wrong?_

_From:Frenchsexypants_

* * *

_Texts-Subject:RE:RE:RE:(none)_

_To:Frenchsexypants_

_So many things, love, so many things. I'll see you there._

_From:BritSuprrWit_

* * *

**Facebook-Status Update: Francis Bonnefoy**

**Francis Bonnefoy **changed his relationships status from _In a relationship _with **Arthur Kirkland **to _In an open relationship._

* * *

**Facebook-Status Update: Arthur Kirkland**

**Arthur Kirkland **posted a comment on** Matthew Williams' timeline.**

Do you want to hang out?

**Comments:**

-r u and mattie fucking with francis? cuz that's liek totlly messd up.

-threesome yeahhhh!

-mattie srsly is ok w/ that?

-u guys r so fkd up.

-wut happd to exclusive rltnshps?

-alwys knew artie wuz a kinky lil shit. poor matt, tho.

-Stupid assholes! He's asking if matthew wants to hang out, not to date him. You're all dumbasses.

-wut do u know, veta?

-hey veta, is matthew fuking arthur? just wanna know cuz be4 i left, i saw them sleeping in the same bed, so i assume it's a 1nite stand, but now r they an item?

-OMFG, THEY SLEPT 2GETHER?! I'M TOTALLY TWEETING THIS!

-don't you dare, ass!

-dun.

-ASSHAT!

-what? francis obvsly knows, otherwise y wud he says he's in an open reltonshp.

-u dont no that

-open relationships? Mwahahaha, c, art and francis and matthew are all in one! how cute.

-freak

* * *

**Facebook-Status Update: Arthur Kirkland**

**Arthur Kirkland **changed his relationship status from _In a relationship _with **Francis Bonnefoy **to _single. _

**Comments: **

-ha, so francis knew about him cheating?

-he cheated?

-yeah, didn't u read feliks' tweet?

-omfg, arthur cheated on poor francis? dammmn, real asshole move, kirky.

-not cool!

-dudes, chill out, francis is such a sensitive baby. srsly, they were DRUNK and out of their minds. no big deal. didnt mean anything.

-that doesnt justify!

-no, it doesnt!

-yeah, but i bet francis wuz cheating 1st. he is francis after all.

-u don't know that, so shut the fuck up. it's wrong to cheat.

-hence why francy pants dumped him.

-how do u know he dumped him?

-hey guys, this seems familiar... hahahah, i just realized something!

-that ur head's up ur ass?

-if arthur slept with matthew, then matthew mustve been getting back at francis for stealing him! remember?! back in high school! OMFG, what a vindictive lil bastard! but it's always the quiet ones!

-dude, totly rite! i never saw that!

-damn, now im scared. wut if matthew snaps and tries 2 kill us all or something?

-u idiots should be banned from the internet.

-stop spreading stupid gossip! matthew's too nice to try something silly like that!

-thank you yeketarina. matthew's a nice guy, everybody. he was really good about the breakup, remember that? or are u all just gossiping and doing ur best to trash matt?

-chill out.

-bitch, wut do u know about matthew? u've been ignoring him since the eleventh grade.

-as if u did any different.

-yo, meh b it's just an attention thing? meh b it wasnt revenge, but trying 2 get attention?

-whats with u and ur dumb every1's as selfish as me theories? he's a really nice guy! always has been!

-but who knows? maybe the solitude is starting 2 get 2 him?

-u people r unbelievable.

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

"Pig," I muttered.

"Seriously, right?" Alfred crowed. "Asshole!"

We were on videochat and he was in a small box on the bottom half of my screen. Just a few seconds ago, I'd gotten his invitation and had accepted it. I had barely gotten over my shock at his face quite suddenly popping up and filling the screen before he went into a loud rant that had practically crashed my speaker phones. I hadn't realized how loud I had them on and by the time I got to turning it down to a less painful volume, my ears were still ringing, but were no longer throbbing.

Alfred had babbled at me for a good fifty seconds and the only thing I'd processed was, "Facebook, Facebook, you have to check your timeline." So I'd logged on. My, my, Mattie's home feed is full of news.

I was rarely on Facebook, I mean come on it's a social network! I really didn't see what there was to do on Facebook besides see people updating their status with gossip or pointless chatter. Even when I was a teenager I never really got as obsessed with it as my friends. I don't recall ever being fond of it. I guess I checked it fairly often, daily maybe, but I haven't checked it daily since I'd changed my status from in a relationship to single. And I'm sure you know when that was.

So when I got on my FB page, there was a lot of stuff crowding my inbox and notifications board. I huffed, quickly going through them, scanning them for their worth. Nope, just pointless drivel, pictures of cats doing weird stuff, Internet memes, advertisements and shares, people liking my comments from years ago, Gilbet asking me how I was doing (lots of these, from way back when to present day), messages and notifications from pages I'd liked, more pictures of cats. Except for...

"I can't believe he'd ask me if I wanted to-to-"

"Hang out," Alfred said distastefully, like he was saying the Black Plague. "What an ass."

The Alfred on my screen looked pissed. Majorly pissed. My eyes drifted down to him. He was sittting at his desk and I could see his room. As messy as always, I see, Al. Clothing strewn about in a haphazard manner. Food littering his carpet, rumpled and frayed and a dingy gray. His bed sheets were tangled, clumps of them stacked on the edge of the bed or falling off it completely. The other bed, his roomate's, was no better and it was clear both of them lacked a sense of hygiene.

"I mean, seriously! That guy-that guy should be, like, I don't know, feeling so guilty he can't even leave his house! Seriously, I can't believe-"

"Well believe it," I said gloomily. Alfred had gradually worn my admittedly shallow patience thin. I've been feeling so down lately that I couldn't handle Alfred's rants for longer than a few moments. I think it's starting to show. Anyway, I didn't feel like listening anymore. My patience was shot since my "meet-up" with Arthur and I'd been feeling like crap for a few weeks now, so much so that I hadn't let my room for what felt like forever. Alfred had pestered me and pestered me until I got to the point where I just ran into my room and slammed the door in his face, shouting, "I don't wanna talk about it," and isolating myself completely. Well, as completely as I could while still attending my college classes.

Still, eventually I started feeling bad, so I ended up inviting him to dinner and telling him everything. And funnily enough, the next day Alfred found out Arthur was now single and Francis was "in an open relationship," whatever that meant. And that warranted a videochat with me apparently.

"You should respond."

"What?" I raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. "With what?"

"Tell him he's a cunt."

"I'm not going to say that over Facebook," I said dryly. "Maybe in person, but not online."

* * *

**Facebook-Status Update: Matthew Williams**

**Arthur Kirkland **posted a comment on** Matthew Williams' timeline.**

Do you want to hang out?

**Comments: **

-What do you want, Arthur?

-shud be obvious.

-dont be a prick.

-What the hell are you trying to do, Arthur?

* * *

**Facebook**

**Friend Requests (0), Messages (1), Notifications (0)**

**Arthur Kirkland**

Hello. I was wondering if you wanted to talk? Meet up?

**Matthew Williams**

What do you want? Why wouldn't you call me? You really want to start the gossip mills?

**Arthur Kirkland**

I couldn't believe all of their stupid comments. So I thought I'd demonize myself.

**Matthew Williams**

The answer's no, Artie.

**Arthur Kirkland**

Why?

**Matthew Williams**

I don't want to. Simple as that.

**Arthur Kirkland**

And why is that?

**Matthew Williams**

Because I don't like you!

**Arthur Kirkland**

You see what they wrote about you? They think you're conspiring against Francis or I. Looking for revenge or attention or something. Dumb wankers.

**Matthew Williams**

... Really? What are they saying?

**Arthur Kirkland**

Just a load of shite. Dumb sods. They seem to think you've been biding your time. And they found out about our one night stand.

**Matthew Williams**

Seriously? How did they know?

**Arthur Kirkland**

Someone who slept over asked Elizaveta about us being an item. That kind of dropped the bomb on everyone. I guess word got out about it and of course, the gossip mills still run, even though they should really be above such silliness. Then again, Francis is semi-famous now, so maybe that's it...

**Matthew Williams**

Great. Just what I wanted, publicity for a dumb mistake I want to forget.

**Arthur Kirkland**

Comes with the territory, I'm afraid. Francis has been rather quiet about it, surprisingly. He hasn't really responded to any of the comments.

**Matthew Williams**

Is he really upset?

**Arthur Kirkland**

He was kind of withdrawn. He seemed resigned to it when I broke it off with him. We've been growing apart for a really long time, Mattie.

**Matthew Williams**

Don't call me that.

**Arthur Kirkland**

I'm sorry. Force of habit.

**Matthew Williams**

Bullshit. You're trying to soften me up. The answer's still no.

**Arthur Kirkland**

This is stupid. I can't believe you're willing to message me over Facebook but not talk to me in person. This is childish.

**Matthew Williams**

You really need to learn what not to say and when. You haven't changed much in that aspect.

**Arthur Kirkland**

... I'm sorry. You see? This is stupid. I can't apologize the way I should apologize, seriously! You know what? Things don't come out the way they should via internet messaging. I'm coming over there.

**Matthew Williams**

What? No, don't come over. We're done, okay? I don't want to see you. Arthur? You're still there, aren't you? Stay away. How do you even know where I live, anyway?

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

"I can't believe these comments!" Alfred shouted.

"I know, I know," I agreed. He was standing over my shoulder now, reading all of the comments with me. He'd apparently decided now was a perfect time to visit me and rant at me in person. Bastard knew I was less likely to snap at him to shut up when he was here in person. Okay, I'm just kidding. He's like a puppy. He'll take all of your anger without flinching and still come bounding back to you the next day.

I'd had a mild breakdown once, last year, and I'd flung a firestorm of abuse on him and he'd taken it all without blinking. Then he'd left.

The next day when I'd come over to apologize (prepared to beg or cry), he'd given me a big hug and asked if I wanted to get some lunch, on him. He acted like nothing had happened. And at that time, that was really all I'd needed, you know, to get things off my chest. He hadn't taken my attacks personally and he'd known, also like a dog, that I was just upset and needed something to lash out at. He happened to be there, so I'd targeted him. Poor guy. I am a quiet guy, not an emotionless guy. When I snap, I tend to snap hard. But more of that later.

* * *

**Third Person POV: Matthew**

"These people are stupid! You'd never do something that stupid or so petty! Man! People really don't like loners! If you keep to yourself, everyone thinks you're a psychopath! But not all loners are like Ivan, geez," Alfred huffed, somewhat hypocritically since he barely knew Ivan. "Who are these people? I don't recognize them."

"They're Arthur's friends. Most of them are Francis's friends as well. They all seem like young people, don't they?" Matthew mused. "Then again, professionals don't gossip like that I don't think."

"That's not true," Alfred argued. "People magazine. All they do is gossip. They make a living off it."

"Yeah, but this is Facebook," Matthew countered.

"Hm," Alfred looked back at the screen. "Oh no. What's this?"

He grabbed Matthew's cursor and clicked on his message board. "Oh no, stop it!"

But Alfred had already clicked on his messages to Arthur.

"Alfred, you don't-" Matthew faltered. What was it he wanted to say exactly?

Alfred's eyes moved up and down as he read. He let out a short laugh. Then his eyes narrowed. Then he laughed again. And finally, he narrowed his eyes again. By the time he looked back at Matthew, they were scowling.

"Douche," he said vehemently. "What's his problem? You made it clear you're not interested."

"Think he's really coming over?" Matthew asked, somewhat nervous-sounding.

"I hope not. Wanna leave and crash at my place?"

"I'm not afraid of him," Matthew scoffed. "I just don't want to see him."

"Right. So you come over to my place until you're sure he's not here," Alfred said like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"That's dumb," his friend said. "I'm not going to hide from him or anything. I'm not scared of him. That'd just be... dumb."

"Okay," Alfred said. "But I need to know something. You're not going to... go back to him, are you?"

"What? No way!" Matthew huffed, looking dismissively at his computer screen. Then his eyes slid back to Alfred's face. "Wait a second, you think I seriously would-?"

"No, no!" Alfred said quickly. "Just that... um... Brits are tricky."

Matthew spluttered with laughter. "Tri-tricky? Arthur? He's as blunt as a hammer. Manipulation isn't really his thing."

"Okay. If you say so," Alfred said dubiously. He ruffled his messy blond hair distractedly, glancing at the clock.

"You're doubting me right now, aren't you? In your head you're thinking-"

"No I'm not!" Alfred exclaimed. "I'm thinking about school actually. I wanna go back and do some homework, but I can't leave you alone!"

Matthew raised a brow. "Why not, Alfred?" he said slyly. "Could it be-?"

"Okay, okay! I don't wanna leave because when Arthur comes over, I want to make sure you don't... uh, you know, change your mind. You know. Fall for those big, fuzzy, bug eyebrows like a princess to her prince charming. You know, some dumb shit like that," Alfred said, humorously solemn-sounding.

Matthew choked with laughter. "You-you think-those eyebrows are-! They look ridiculous! Just plain silly. He should pluck them or something."

"Yeah, the first time I saw them I thought there were leeches on his forehead," Alfred chuckled. "Remember?"

"You swatted at him with your flyswatter. And he cussed you out right in front of your parents. He had a really dirty mouth."

"Still does." They both giggled.

"Seriously, though. I don't like the thought of him coming here. I'll be honest with you," Alfred said gravely, "I think he's a douche. And I smell weakness."

Matthew frowned at him.

"What do you mean?"

Alfred made a big deal out of grabbing Matthew's arm and smelling it.

"I smell weakness," he said in an exaggerated whisper. "Weaaaknesssss. Weaaaaaaknessssss."

Matthew rolled his eyes and pulled his arm free.

"And I smell burgers. And piss. I hope you weren't eating burgers in the bathroom again."

"What can I say? I love burgers so much I can't stop eating them, not anywhere!"

"That's truly disgusting," Matthew said, wrinkling his nose.

"Not as disgusting as putting maple syrup on _everything." _

"I don't put maple syrup on everything!"

"Yeah, well," Alfred clucked like a hen, indicating a subject change. "So. Tell me. Still have feelings for Artie Stuffypants?"

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

You'd think a question like that would be very hard to answer. But I have a three worded answer, one that about summed up how I felt about that stuffy Brit:

I don't know.

I also have a solution to go to that problem of an answer:

I need a freaking drink. Honestly, though, that solution is part of the reason I'm in this mess now.

* * *

Conversation Held During a Late Lunch Between Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Bonnefoy:

_-I can't believe you could do this to me. _

_-How could you?_

_-Why would you hurt me like this?_

_-Is this a joke?_

_-Why would you do it? _

_-Arthur? Answer me! I shouldn't be-I shouldn't be-h-having this conver-conversation by-by... myself._

_Crying. _

_-Francis, this is not because of anything you did. This is... entirely me at fault here-_

_-Oui, il est de votre faute! Je ne suis pas en faute ici! You think I don't know that? You cheated on me, remember? Oh Dieu, you didn't do this out of revenge, did you? You didn't-didn't do this out of-? After all those years, out of spite, surely even you wouldn't sink that low-?_

_-Never! How could you say that? I'd never be so petty! This was because-because I-because you're never around! And you're a foppish, pretentious, smug, arrogant frog-sucking, chee-" _

_-I'm not in the mood for one of our little spats right now, Arthur! Don't try to make me out to be the bad guy here! I've been busy! You know that! You don't go out and fuck someone just because you're having problems with a relationship! Even you in your British standards and narrow-minded wisdom should've known that! I can't believe you're trying to blame me! Is this what you did to Matt-?_

_-Shut up! Listen-_

_-No, you listen! We're through! I can't believe I-I can't-I can't deal with this right now! I have work to do and too many people to please! You have no idea how stressful it is for _me _to be working all of the time and the reason is that you don't care!_

_-That's not true, I-_

_-You're self-centered. I always knew you were an asshole, but this is taking it too far now._

_-Me?! You're one to talk!_

_-I know. I know I'm selfish and smug and arrogant, but you already knew that, darling. If you didn't want me anymore, all you had to do was tell me. Instead, you chose to hurt me-_

_-Francis..._

* * *

**First Person POV: Arthur Kirkland**

I felt like shit.

Yeah. Still angsting over my royal assholery. Still. What a prick. I'm such a damn prick.

"Arthur? You okay?" Dad asks. He's sitting at his computer, checking his email and occasionally pausing to survey me from behind his screen. "Hey, you didn't send me this email about healthcare, did you? I already told you I'd cover you until you got to living on your own again."

"No, I didn't." I pause, not daring to meet his eyes. I wanted to explain everything to him, but I'm still feeling too raw inside to say it to him yet.

"Is it... Francis?" he asks hesitantly.

"'Course not," I say indifferently. Of course, he sees through the very transparent lie. But he doesn't call me on it. Instead he just grimaces and nods and keeps his eyes on his computer screen.

"So how's that book coming?"

Sometimes I've got to hand it to him. He knows when I need space and gives it to me. Any other parent would be all over me, especially because of the drugs and all, but he trusts me. Still, after everything I've done. It's nice to be trusted. It makes me want to be trustworthy. It makes me feel accepted and loved and... suddenly, I knew what to do.

"Hey Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks. I think I know what I need to do now."

"Your book's doing well then, is it? "

I can't help but smile. Good old Dad.

* * *

Calling...

Ring... Ring...

"Hello, Matthew speaking."

"It's Arthur. Meet me at our place. I need to talk-"

"A-"

"A-ta-ta-tat! Shut up, Matthew! Just meet me there!"

Call ended.

Growl.

"Asshole."

* * *

**First Person POV: Matthew**

Who does that fathead Brit think he is? Telling me to meet him there, not asking, telling! And hanging up on me! The nerve!

No, it's not womanly to be annoyed and agitated, not at all!

And no, just because I'm going to meet him there does NOT mean we're going on a date. I'm talking to you, Alfred.

No, I just want to give him a piece of my mind. How could he be so insensitive and callous and over the phone no less? After all the shit he's stirred and all the feelings he's twisted and stepped on?

I was furious. I drove like a maniac, my mind on other things besides the cars and drivers flipping off my reckless driving, my mouth in a determined line. By the time I got to "our place" (ha, our place? more like mine), I'm sure if the car could talk it would be sobbing and begging for mercy or a mercy-suicide. I slammed my foot down on the brakes, shifting gears with an abrupt jerk, and angrily yanking my key out of the slot. I could almost feel the car trembling beneath me, I swear, like the thing was afraid of me. Good. It should be. Though the car didn't really deserve my wrath.

Right then, I was Matthew Williams, not to be screwed with. How dare Arthur actually call me and demand I come to him, rather than the other way around!

If anything, he owes me that extra effort!

But no, he drags me out here!

The nerve. (Shut up, Alfred, I can almost hear him giggling and asking me if I was going to stomp my foot like girls do on MTV).

I stormed inside the coffee shop, the last place I'd met up with him. Immediately though, my anger faded as I viewed the soft, unsuspecting customers who'd done nothing to deserve my anger. Even as annoyed as I was, no way was I going to be an ass to everyone I met and ruin their day. No way, that was an Alfred thing to do, or maybe a Francis-thing to do (if I still knew him, that is, and if he hadn't changed much since high school). I know how that feels. I'd never do that to someone else.

But then I caught sight of the man I least wanted to see, but had come to see anyway.

"Arthur!"

The Brit flinched in surprise. He was sitting near the back, his back previously to me but now leaning against the glass of the window he sat in front of. He smiled.

His smile infuriated me. It wasn't mocking or delighted or a grimace, just a smile, but still the casualness of it infuriated me. I stomped over to him, trying to keep the stern, angry look on my face but having great difficulty.

"What do _you _want?" I hissed. "I thought I told you to fu-"

"Matthew, shut up," he said simply.

And, well, I was shocked. I thought he'd be hesitant and grovel-y and shyly proclaiming his attraction and or horniness. But he told me to shut up.

"I still love you. You know that. And I know on some level that you l-care," he said, changing his last word abruptly at the murderous look on my face. Good thing too, otherwise he might've gotten one my fists in his... okay, maybe not. I was already calming down, I admit it. I have a limit to how much rage I can have in one day and how long I can sustain it. I'd about reached my limit. "About me as well. So I'll work with that. We'll be friends, okay? Get to know each other a little better. Get to be friends again, you know? Just like the old days. I can get to know you again. I can-I can... fall in love with you again," he murmured quietly, his voice getting that dangerously-romantic edge. I tried not to be turned on by it, but I'm sure my face was failing me. "We were always friends, Mattie. Let's be friends again. And if it gets to be something more, well-"

"I don't even want to be your friend anymore, Arthur. What part of 'I don't trust you,' don't you get?" I hissed quietly. "And friends generally make friends 'happy' not miserable to their stomaches."

"Friends don't have to trust each other. Just let me gain your trust. Can't you give me a second chance? A second chance at happiness?" he tried. I snorted.

"Okay, too corny," he admitted. "But seriously now, poppet. I want to be friends with you again. But I won't lie to you. I'd like to have you as more than a friend, but if you don't want to, then that's fine as well. I just want to be friends with you again. Just friends." He pouted at me, his green eyes practically circles as he did his best to look like a puppy. I scowled. But...

Something in me still jumped.

I could feel my heart beating faster, even if I didn't want to admit it, even if my mind hated it.

I still-

"You're an ass."

"Yeah. Deal with it. I'm not your boyfriend, remember? I'm your friend. I get to be what I want whenever I want. We're not boyfriends, so I don't have to go out of my way to be nice anymore," he said, smirking. "Don't be such a little bitch, Matthew. Seriously. You came in looking like a girl on her period. Is it your time of the month?"

I scowled, feeling resentment building. Hot resentment. Really, really hot resentment. God, the resentment was getting to be too much.

"Asshole. Francis has been rubbing off on you."

"In more ways than one."

I stared at him, then burst into laughter. Dirty jokes. Just like any other friend.

Maybe I needed a new friend.

Maybe something more, but right now, if all he was suggesting was friendship...

"Just friends," he pressed again. "We can even talk about our boyfriends or whatever. Just let things get 'normal.' You know, comfortable."

I breathed in deeply, pressing both hands to my closed eyelids.

"I already have Alfred as an annoying best buddy."

A smile flitted across his face, but he looked more annoyed than amused.

"I can't believe you're still friends with a moron like that."

"I can't believe this is your friendship pitch," I replied snarkily back.

"Just saying you can do better."

I snorted. "Clearly not, since I'm considering your friendship offer."

He smacked my arm lightly. "Very funny."

"Not kidding. You're messed up, Artie. I know it. That much hasn't changed. I can tell. You still have a certain... selfish streak. I don't think you're boyfriend material."

"I'd think that was pretty obvious," Arthur joked weakly. I winced a little, feeling a little guilty since the topic was clearly still rather tender.

"But uh, I'm not looking for a boyfriend. Well, not in you, anyway. But you know, I'm kind of looking for a... different kind of friend. You know, not like Alfred, who's more like a puppy dog. Someone who... you know, is-" I leaned forward a little, smiling at him.

He took this as an invitation to slide across the table and kissing me full on the lips.

When he pulled away, his green eyes were excited, his face flushed.

"Do you mean like a friend with benefits?"

"No, I was going to say a friend I can do dumb shit like seeing stupid horror movies or sniffing coke," I said somewhat breathlessly. "That's fine too. Maybe I need a friend like that. It could be interesting."

"Could be interesting," he said.

I nodded, agreeing.

"So what do you say we test this thing out? You know, maybe try a few test runs?"

He laughed at me.

"I love how you can be so clumsy with your come-ons. It's sexy in a weird way."

"Just like your caterpillar eyebrows," I snipped.

"It was a compliment!"

"I could've said bushy brows."

"I could've said you suck in bed."

"But you'd be lying because I got you to-"

"Don't say it!"

"But you put your finger-"

"I said don't say it!"

My eyes narrowed playfully. This could be fun.

As much as I hate to admit it, I could feel something. I'm not sure what the something is. I thought it was resentment. But honestly, I don't know.

I don't know what I'm feeling. I don't know what I'm getting into as Arthur and I jostle each other under the table, somewhere between flirty and teasingly, maybe both. He's still a cheating bastard, a selfish one, a cynical, nihilistic, bitter, sardonic douche, a guy who infuriates me and can bring up all kinds of emotions in me, from pain to disgust to maybe something warm and fuzzy to hot as a fever. It gets me bothered to be around him. Not always in a good way, mind you.

Like he said, though, we aren't dating this time. We're friends. He's a prick, but friends aren't perfect. I liked that. Friends. We could be friends. Not a perfect couple or a pair of enemies or even fuck buddies, but friends who could do all of them. Nothing solid or defined to scare or hurt either of us. We still have a lot of dirt to get over, still a lot of bad feelings running rampant in our heads, but we would get over it. Not as a couple, since Arthur clearly wasn't good at that, but as a couple of friends. I used to love the man, and he used to love me, but that hadn't worked out. Now we were both stuck with those feelings, unfortunately. So the best solution seemed to be a trade, a middleground. We would be friends. Maybe with sex on the side, maybe just for companionship, or maybe, just maybe that feeling that could fill the emptiness. Companionship.

Huh. Who would've thought that absence would make the heart re-kindle fierce emotions, completely decimate one relationship, rebuild another one, an old flame, from the ground up, and start a beautiful friendship (again) from the point of no return?

* * *

**So thanks for reading. this is the end. Somewhat disappointing, I'm sorry, but I've been busy and since this was halfway done, I decided to tear through it and force it finished. If it seems disjointed, it's because I wrote the first half like a month ago. And the end is a little rushed because I'm very short on time. anyway, hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading, really wish you'd review. Again, sorry for the lateness and the rushed nature. **

**EDIT: I just extended the ending and hopefully made it better. Your comments?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi. So this fic itself didn't have as many reviews as I would've liked, but it didn't do so bad on the Traffic scale. Actually, it did pretty well on the viewing scale. More than the story with hundreds of reviews got. Weird how that works, right?**

**Anyway, I'm going to write a sequel. Yeah. Technically, you could end the story here, but what the hell? I might as well write a sequel. It's not going to be very long, mind you, but maybe you prefer that anyway. **

**England/ Canada still. Other pairings have yet to be decided. America is straight(ish) in this version, but I might "gay" him up if it suits my fancy. **

**You have Cookies to thank for this, by the way. Not cookies, like the kind you delete after you finish reading fics that you shouldn't be reading, little underage readers/writers, but cookies as in Cookies4, who asked for a sequel. **

**So this is just a heads-up alert. The fic itself isn't ready for reading yet (still editing), but well, know you know. Thanks for reading ADRHP (long title, geez), and preemptively, thank you for proceeding to the (thus far) unnamed sequel. Peace.**

**-Dr. Witch**

**It's called Not Limited to Sex. The link won't work. Just find it on my account, I suppose. **


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